#I get a lot more asks these days than I used to so I'm trying to do-- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

slimybeth69 · 3 days ago

Text

Touch: Part 3

Summary: You take a solo trip to the market while Din and The Child do... Din and The Child...things.

warnings: explicit 18+, oral (f & m receiving), fondling, reader gives Din a fashion show.

a/n: I know so very little about the Star Wars universe. I dunno shit about fuck when it comes to planets and ships and how things work. You'll see what I mean in later chapters, but I'm just warning you that I make a bunch of shit up, and am probably entirely incorrect about some of the things I may talk about in this chapter or upcoming chapters. I'M SORRY. I JUST LOVE THAT HELMETED MAN AND HIS GREEN CHILD, OK???

unbeta'd, poorly proofread because of my AHDH

“Why? Why do you have to go? You’ve gone and come back and gone and come back what feels like a million times.” You’re on the verge of tears. Not because he said he has to go again but because you woke up in the same field you’ve been in for the last week. “If you haven’t found wha-” He interrupts your outburst with a stern clearing of his throat. You roll your eyes and hold the baby close on your hip.

“I have found what I’m looking for. I have thing’s I need to attend to here. You need to rel-” He stops himself when you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Were you going to tell me to relax? ” You sneer quietly. “That’s all I do! It’s all we do all the time. You don’t let us leave the perimeter you set up for us. You don’t ever let us come with you. You just leave. I don’t know if you noticed this, Mando , but this is a baby. Babies need stimulation. Not being cooped up in the same place all the- honestly– you know what? Me. I need stimulation. I need something to do besides look at this cute baby all day and night when you’re not here. Something.” You rattle it all off, sometimes looking down at the baby, sometimes pointing at him to make sure he knows you’re talking to him.

You’re upset.

Din is staring at you. Not speaking. He’s fastening his cape. You stare back as menacing as you can, which you don’t think is a lot. You’re not very intimidating. But you’re trying . While still holding the child who is playing with the buttons on your shirt.

“I’ll be back tonight and we will leave, I should have things sorted by then.” Din finally speaks. He doesn’t sound sincere.

“That still doesn’t ‘sort out’ the issue of the child and I being bored. I need something. Anything. Stuff to sew, something for him to play with isn’t dead bugs and pebbles. He needs more than this.” You hold your hand out to the very un-child safe hull of the ship around you. “Something!”

Din takes a step forward in your direction and you think he might yell at you but he holds his arms out for the child. The child reaches for him. You hand him off and step back, crossing your arms over your chest in frustration.

“You want things to sew ?” Din asks, sounding like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

“ How do you think clothes get made? Hm?” You’re being sassy in your frustration.

“I know what sewing is.” He says dully. “I mean, you want to sew? You know how?” He holds the child in the crook of his elbow and gives him a couple fingers to play with.

“Yes and yes and I’d love some fabric or something to sew for the child. He’s only got the robe and it stinks. Bad. I don’t know if you can tell under the helmet.” You huff at him and turn to walk back to the bed so you can sit.

“There’s a market.” He says after a minute. “You want to go?”

It’s like you’re seeing double– no triple because is he asking you if you want to leave the ship and the perimeter? Yes! Yes you do! You have credits saved up and could buy yourself things and not have to rely on Din for anything and that makes you feel so incredible.

“Are you asking me if I want to come with you?”

He shakes his head.

“I have business. I’ll take the child. I’ll drop you at the market and you can come back here when you’re done.” He explains. You furrow your brows.

“What if I get lost?” You are curious and a little nervous now.

“Don’t get lost.” Said so simply.

“What if I do?” You’re demanding an answer that isn’t sass.

“I’d come find you. I wouldn’t just let you wander lost .” He’s not amused with you.

“Okay. Yes, I do want to go.” You slap your hands on your knees.

“Here’s a blaster pistol.” He reaches behind his cape and pulls one off of the belt behind him.

You go wide eyed because you’ve never held one of those before, let alone carried one on your hip with the intention of using it if you needed it.

“I don’t know how to use that!” You exclaim, backing away from it nervously.

“Trigger.” He points to a part of the pistol near the handle. He aims the gun away from both of you and then looks at you. “Aim.” He nods. “Then you pull.”

You close your eyes in fear and anticipation but he doesn’t actually pull the trigger, he was just giving you a quick rundown of how it worked but still. Scary.

“Stop it. It’s not that bad.” He’s still not amused from behind the helmet.

“I’ve never even held one!” You exclaim, putting your hands on your hips.

“If you don’t take it, you don’t go.” He’s serious. You frown at him.

“Where do I even put it?” You ask nervously.

He comes to you quickly and shows you where the safety is– the switch that will keep it from shooting if you don’t want it to– also how to switch it back and forth. Din then moves behind you, untucks your shirt from your pants the best he can with the blaster in one hand the kid in the other arm and slides the cool metal of the blaster into the waistband. He keeps your shirt untucked.

“No one will see it this way. But you know it’s there. Makes you feel safe. I feel safe knowing you have it.” His raspy modulated voice in your ear makes your head spin.

“I don’t know how safe I feel with a blaster pistol in my pants .” You snark at him.

All you can really think about was the other night when you got to see him. He was perfect, Maker oh was he perfect. His skin was slightly tan and he had a little body hair on his chest and stomach that really let you know he was a man. A real grown man. It’s all you’ve been able to doodle on your little scraps of notebook the child chewed up.

Maker, his unmodulated voice is… there are no words. They’re warm and inviting but they give you shivers at the same time. Maker, let me hear it again.

The walk to the market is kind of long and now you’re kind of worried about getting back on your own. You can see why he gave you the blaster. It does feel good knowing it’s there in your waistband, even if it is digging into you a little uncomfortably.

“Do you ever get tired of the helmet? Like is it annoying and you’re like ‘oh my Maker, I wish I could take this thing off?’ Or is it pretty comfortable?” You ask after a bunch of one worded answers with minutes in between them.

“I don’t hate it.” Din says finally.

You give up trying to talk to him. He’s not the same man you know from back at the ship. He’s a bounty hunter out here. You think. You don’t know. He hasn’t returned with the bounty yet.. So… who knows why he’s here.

Once you reach the edge of the market, Din puts one hand on your shoulder and stops you. You look back at him with a raised brow.

“Please be careful. I don’t want to have to come hunt you down. Be back to the Crest before it gets dark. I’ll be back tonight. Be careful.” Din’s very serious. It’s kind of scary the way the helmet looks down at you so menacingly. You feel like you’ve done something wrong.

“I took care of myself fine before I met you, didn’t I?” You ask, pulling your shoulder out of his grasp. “I’ll be careful but I’ll also be fine. You should be careful. You’ve got my favorite thing on your hip.” You untuck his cape and check on the child in his side bag.

“I’ll see you soon.” You rub his little forehead with your index finger and then your heart breaks when he reaches for you and you have to tuck him back in. You hear him whining from under the cape. “I mean it. Be careful.” You point a finger at Din and he shakes his head at you softly. “I love him so much, please. This is the first time I haven’t been with him since you threw me on the Crest that day. I love him.” You express this seriously. No tones, no silly remarks. He is your baby too now, whether Din likes it or not.

“Okay. I’ll be careful.” He turns to leave. “But you need to be careful too.” Then he turns and reaches into another pocket somewhere hidden behind his cape. He pulls out a handful of credits.

You hold your hands out and he drops them into the bowl you’ve created with them. Two fall on the ground and you have to dump the handful into your bag so you can pick them up.

“What do you need me to get you?” You’re still grabbing the dropped credits when his silence makes you look up at him. “I’ll grab it, just let me know what you want.” You’re explaining it up to him because he’s got his head tilted at you like he doesn’t understand.

“I don’t need anything.”

“Okay so what are the credits for? The kid? What do you wa-” He stops you, a hand on your chest gently.

“They’re yours.” Raspy modulator monotone voice says to you. You raise an eyebrow. He paid you your credits for the week before he left a couple days ago and he just gave you far more than seventy five credits.

“Like an advance?” You’re confused.

Din’s hand falls from your chest and it drops carefully by the child. You hear him coo and babble quietly from behind the fabric.

“No.”

Sometimes, you wish you didn’t have to extract information from this man like teeth get pulled out. Slow and painfully.

“Then what are they for because I don-” He stops you again, this time he just points to the market.

“To get things. That you like or want. I don’t care. They’re yours now. Do what you will with them. Go. Carefully.” He’s stern with you again. You’re very grateful and love that he’s just given you this plentiful gift, he really didn’t have to, you had brought almost all the credits you saved up since you’ve been here.

“Thank you.” You say and turn on your heel. You don’t turn around to call out to him. “Be careful with that child. I’ll know if he’s got new cuts or bruises.” And you walk into the market.

The market might be the most interesting place you’ve ever been. You had never left Canto Bight. Not once. You worked as a tender and sometimes a waitress at the casino for as long as you can remember. You’ve never been to a place like this. Have never had credits like this to spend. The credits you made all went to the woman whose house you rented a room in. It was a nice room and she cooked for you and was okay, not the nicest. She wasn’t terrible.

Din had called it the Outpost something. You don’t really remember. Outpost Market. Something. You had been worried the whole walk here that something was going to happen to either of them. It’s scary out here. It’s been a long time since people were brushing past you. Since the noise of voices and conversations and normal living noises filled the air. It was overwhelming.

The first thing you had to do was get a bigger bag, something that could hold all the stuff you were planning on buying. It was so exciting to hand credits to someone in a stall and just pop it in your brand new bag.

You buy so many things. There is a toy shop and you buy the kid a couple things that you don’t think will fit in his mouth. Then you go to a clothing store and buy new things. All. New. Things.

Everything you are wearing now is going into the fire when you get home tonight. It’s not even worth washing. It’s either itchy or has holes in it and you’re tired of patching and sewing them up. You end up getting all of the other things you need to make the child a new robe or two. He seems to like his little outfit so you don’t plan on changing it all… just making more because he stinks so bad. So bad. It’s almost unbearable. It’s starting to cut right through the cuteness.

No one really bothers you. Probably because you keep your head down and your bags clutched to your chest and side nervously like all of these people– who are just carrying on about their day, not paying you any attention– are going to try and take them from you. Your precious new things.

You spend most of the day there. You buy yourself and Din and the child treats from a shop that had them in the window. You spent so long looking that the owner came out and asked if you wanted to sample. You had to wipe the drool from the corners of your mouth because yes you did and you also wanted four to go.

One for tomorrow.

It was a little tart. You had no idea what was in it but when the owner handed you a piece your mouth watered so bad you almost did drool onto the counter. But then you bit into it, your eyes rolled into the back of your head because flavors like this have never graced your taste buds before. Not even as a child. No. This was amazing and you had him add two more because you knew the child would love it just as much as you and would want more than one.

They were tiny. He’d be fine.

He eats bugs.

The walk home was the scariest part because you got distracted at the sweets shoppe and it ended up getting dark halfway through. You ended up just taking the blaster out of your waistband and carrying it in your hand with the safety off . Because it’s scary. There are noises coming out of the trees on either side of you and you can swear you can hear someone walking behind you but every time you turn around to look there isn’t anyone there and you stop hearing the footsteps. You tell yourself that you’re hearing the echoes of your own walking and carry on.

You speed back to the Crest as it grows darker. The footsteps behind you sound eerily closer than before but you cannot stop to look back because you’re too scared. Your heart is pounding in your chest so fast you think it’s going to make you fly away. It’s too much. You should have paid more attention to the time. You should have listened to Din.

You get to the Crest and half expect someone to grab you as your hands touch it because the footsteps sound so close but you spin around, hands ready to hit the person behind you but there isn’t anyone there. You tell yourself that you’re just scared in the dark. Usually, unless Din is there.

All the lights are off in the Crest. That’s weird. It’s still so early. The sun just went down, it just got dark. The child definitely wouldn’t be sleeping. Not this early. You didn't think Din would be either. You turn them on and the ship is empty. No one was here. The ship’s been locked up since this morning when you all left together.

Din said he would be back tonight and it just started being tonight so you try and calm your already and still racing heart. Get a fire started. Those always make you feel better and you can throw these dirty clothes in there and burn them.

Maybe stand by the fire naked. It would feel good. No one was around.

So you do just that.

You start the fire like you always do and once it’s a decent size you take off your thin, tattered shirt and toss it in the flames. The mix of cool air and heat from the flames on you is delightful. It makes your nipples stand with excitement and the chill. Next thing into the fire are your pants that have split in the seat twice. You’ve sewn them up twice. They burn easily as they are itchy and you think they were made with grass. So it makes sense.

You stand by the fire naked like that for a while.

You then decide that you’re going to jump into the river. Wash all the yuck from those clothes off. It’s so cold, but so refreshing at the same time. It doesn’t take long and you rush back to warm inviting heat of the flames.

You turn occasionally and feel the fire on your back and legs and all over. It’s incredible. But you do feel exposed and you don’t have night vision to see what or who is actually out in the dark so you go and get one of your blankets and wrap it around your shoulders. Opting to stay naked, but be concealed.

The firewood in the pile next to the Crest is getting low now. Your hair is completely dry. You’ve been waiting for them to come back. You thought about going inside to wait but it’s almost as scary inside all by yourself. It’s getting scarier and scarier out here too but you’re watching the path, waiting for Din to materialize from the darkness.

Maker, please keep them safe. Please please keep them safe.

You wait for the fire to die down and then head back inside. You grab your brand new, un-chewed notebook and charcoal you bought today. You keep all the lights on. You don’t care how bright they are. You doodle what his face might look like, since he told you that you were in fact wrong about that too.

You know you’ll never find out and that makes you sad. You turn the page and start to draw the child’s ears. And then his big cute eyes. You end up doodling him eating the tart you bought him. That makes you sad too.

You don’t fall asleep because they don’t come back.

Finally, hours and hours later, finally the door to the Crest opens and you know the sound of his boots on the ramp by now. You jump out of bed, not even caring that you’re still naked and start speeding to meet him. You don’t have far to go.

Din, with the child in the crook of his elbow, walks around the corner and as he sees you walking naked towards him, he covers the child's eyes.

“Where have you been?!”You’re angry. So angry you still don’t care you don’t have any clothes on.

“I-I was at-attending b-business like I said.” You’ve caught him off guard being naked and all.

“You said you’d be home last night!” You’re starting to get annoyed. The child hears your voice, he can’t see you but he can hear you and he’s squirming in Din’s arms, reaching out for you. You go to reach for him but step back, looking around for something to wrap around you but there isn’t anything. Just metal.

Din sees your predicament. It’s getting harder to restrain the child so he turns his back to you. He undoes his cape, now that the child is looking the opposite way. He’s still facing the other direction when he extends his arm backwards, with his cape in his hand.

“Here. Please.” He shakes the fabric impatiently. “He’s squirming and I can barely hold on to him.”

You rush and wrap the cape around your chest, under your arms so you can hold the child.

Din gives him to you happily. Eagerly almost. The child is nearly as excited as you are. You snuggle each other and you run your finger across his forehead.

“I missed you. Yes I did and I got you so many things.” You coo to him softly as you continue to rub his forehead. You glare at Din. “Has he slept?” Din nods and then shakes his head and then nods again. That's the only response you get from him.

“Where are your clothes?” He asks while tilting his head to the side gently.

You blink at him. For a while.

“What kind of answer is–” You mock what he did to you with your head all over in many motions, but he interrupts you.

“ That’s shaking .”

You stop and blink at him again. Maker, he’s asking for it. He really is.

“I’m taking him to bed. Because neither of us has slept yet. Or did. Maybe. No one seems to know.” You stare at him. “And I burned my clothes.” You turn and leave din standing in the entrance of the ship.

Din follows quickly behind you though. He has questions.

“You burned all your clothes. You’re just going to be like this all the time?” He sounds amazed and a little concerned. “What about the-” You turn and look at him.

“I bought new ones. You wish to the stars I’d be like this all the time.” You kind of lightheartedly sneer at him. You are still a little mad. This messes up the baby's schedule in way you don’t think he understands.

Out all night gallivanting around all night with a child. A child?

“I do.” His raspy modulator voice makes you close your eyes for a moment and you think of it with no distortion.

“Really?” You know he’s serious. You don’t think he’d lie to you.

“Yes. I do. You’re so beautiful.” He’s gazing at you up and down like he can see through his cape that’s draped around you.. “Did you buy yourself nice things?” He asks, his gaze falls onto your face. You think.

You nod.

“I’d like it if you showed me.”

You blink at him, still holding the child.

“Now?” You’re tired and honestly still kind of mad at him. He shakes his head and touches your elbow gently.

“No. When you want. I just want to see you in them and-” He looks you up and down again slowly. “Look as you change.” He’s whispering because the child has fallen asleep in your arms at the gentle touch of your fingertips on his forehead.

“Okay.” Normally you are alarmed at his requests but the things he wants to do to you and want to watch you do are not strange to you anymore. You’re not surprised honestly. “I have to go to bed. Tired. Sleep.” You grumble, laying the child in his orb. You go to lay on your mat to go to sleep but you remember his cape.

You unwrap it from around you and hand it to him. He stares at you.

“Please take it.” You whine and his gloved fingers brush against yours as he takes it from your hand.

“Beautiful. I can’t take my eyes away.” He’s in awe again. You wave your hand at him. “Please, sleep in my bed. You need good rest. Please.” You appease him this time and get right into those beautiful sheets.

Din goes to shut the ship down. Lock it all up. Child proof it. The lights go off and you close your eyes. You're asleep almost immediately. It’s so nice to close your eyes and not have them snap open remembering that the baby isn’t asleep in the same room as you. You can hear the metal of the beskar clanking as he takes it off. Then silence. And you’re so thankful because you were about to yell at him to be quiet.

And then you feel him crawling over you in bed, so he can be behind you. You almost jump out but it’s like he’s anticipating it and catches you by the waist.

“If you really want to go, I’ll let you. But I want to share the bed.” He whispers into your ear, no rasp or modulator voice. You go limp against him and let the heat of his body– which is still so incredibly hot– warm you from the back. It feels so incredible to have another person pressed against you.

“I’ll stay. Tonight.” You lay your head back down on the pillow.

Din starts to trail feather soft kisses up your arm, starting at your wrist. He doesn’t stop until he’s at your shoulder and then he licks you softly.

“Are you asleep, little one?” He whispers gently.

You almost were.

“Yes.” You mumble softly. “Are you not tired?” You whisper, turning slightly so you're pressed against him harder.

“Not anymore.” He whispers and you feel his warm breath on your lips. It’s so good. He’s so good. It makes your stomach flutter when he does that. You expect him to kiss you but he doesn’t. Got your hopes up.

“I’m tired. So tired. Why can’t we do this in the morning?” You bargain.

“It’s the morni-”

You both suddenly realize that it’s not as dark in the ship as it had been two minutes ago.

You accidentally hit yourself in the nose trying to cover your eyes so you don’t accidentally see. He’s scrambling over you before your hands even get to your eyes. You groan loudly; the pain brings tears to your eyes as you blindly roll out of his bed.

“Maker. Din. I’m sorry.” You’re scrambling on the floor to your mat, trying desperately to feel with your hands, your eyes shut tightly now. “I can’t find my mat!” You exclaim through a whisper.

The child starts to cry.

And so do you.

It’s getting lighter and lighter in the ship as you walk to your bag and grab a new shirt and the pants you bought. You put them on with tears in your eyes.

“We have to leave anyway. Bring him in the bed again and sleep as much as you can. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” He’s behind you. He’s got his helmet back on and pants but that’s it. You reach out and touch his chest. You startle him.

“I had to make sure that I’m actually awake and that this isn’t a nightmare.”

He actually laughs at you.

“I did it.” You cheer with no enthusiasm. “I made the mandalorian laugh.” You walk over to the child– he’s sitting in the middle of the orb with his arms outstretched. Crying. “I’m coming.” You try to calm him, but the sound of your voice makes him cry harder and move his little arms around.

You pick him up and immediately get in bed. You two are snuggled into each other, he’s basically asleep in your armpit before you two are under the covers.

Din watches, amused.

You are happy. You’re flying again and not on the ground and the child is happy with his new toys. Loved the tart, just like you thought. You know him so well now. Din even ate one in the privacy of a dark part of the ship.

“Thank you.” He says turning the corner. You’ve found a spot with light, away from the child to sew. You put the child down a while ago and Din’s been busy doing work on the Crest.

“For?” You’ve completely forgotten the tart. You’ve been working on a new robe for the child since you woke up and you’re trying to finish because the kid fucking reeks. How does he smell so bad? You wash him every single day and he just stinks. Why? How?

“The treat. It was nice.” He tilts his head as he watches you sink the needle into the fabric and pull the thread through. “You thought of me again.” You turn your head to look at him.

“I think about you all the time.” You’re laughing because you think it’s obvious. Now you regret saying it.

“Y-you do?” It is inquired with disbelief. You laugh again.

“Yes. You’re basically my only friend.” It's chuckled out, but you feel stupid and regretful. Because he is your only friend and you didn’t know if what you two were doing; the business aspect or the physical, were grounds for being considered friends. “I just wanted you to have something nice.” You shrug your shoulders and go back to sewing hoping he’s not feeling to chatty.

Din doesn’t say anything, just like you wanted but the silence makes you feeling stupid for calling him your friend. Again.

“Do you have friends?” You flick your eyes to him, he’s still looking at you but still is quiet for a while.

“You would call them that.” He says simply after another minute.

“What does that mean?” You drop the little robe into your lap and look at him fully this time. “What in the stars could that mean?”

“You would consider them my friends. I don’t know if I would. I don’t know if I have friends. Associates I call them.”

You nod in understanding.

“Associates.” You repeat the word like it’s fancy and new to you but you know what he means. “They help you with whatever you do out there?” You motion to the endless space you’re floating in. Din shrugs and nods.

“Sometimes they cause me more trouble.” Din is still watching you. “Where did you learn that?” He motions now to your sewing.

“My aunt taught me when I was little.” You explain mindlessly. You could finish the robe tonight before bed if you work fast enough. “Taught me how to cook, sew and clean.”

“And only the sewing stuck after all these years?” Raspy modulator voice. Your head snaps up to look at him.

“You’re so mean.” You laugh and shake your head. “I do better now. Okay? I got a good thing going with the baby, we have a routine now.” You point at him. “Which you messed up, by the way. It took so much longer to get him to sleep tonight and he didn’t nap today.” You roll your eyes.

“He had fun.” Modulated raspiness.

“Oh he did? Aw, I love that.” You completely forget that you’re upset with Din for keeping him out all night. You’re happy the child had fun. Din nods as you go back to your project.

“Will you show me now?”

You raise an eyebrow at him in curiosity.

“Your new clothes. Please.” Raspy modulator. You think for a moment.

“Okay but I get to ask you to do something for me now.” You’re smirking at him and you’ve set your sewing on the floor next to you.

“Anything.” He’s leaning forward, waiting to hear what you have to say.

“I want to watch too. I don’t want to be in the dark.” You’re both staring at each other and you almost feel like you're talking to yourself the way you can see your reflection in the face visor.

“Watch?” He’s confused. Now he knows how you feel. You reach out and press your fingertips to his armor and nod.

“I want to see. I never get to see.” Your fingers are lazily dropping down each plate of metal and finally they stop right above his waist. “I really want to see you...” Your gaze has been following your hand, but you snap your eyes up to Din and he’s looking down at you.

“Watch me…” He moves his hand to lay on top of yours gently and he pushes yours down slowly, your fingers brushing against the plate that covers his groin. You nod and bite your bottom lip.

“I’ll change for you and pose and whatever else you could want, but I want to watch what you’re doing while I do it. Please.” You try being polite like he is when he’s excited and speaking to you.

Din looks at you while your fingers trace along the beskar covering his groin. His head tips down to watch you tease him meaninglessly. You know he can’t feel it.

You are dying to see him. All of him. All that he can show you, anyway. You got a feel of him the other night. You felt what he was hiding behind that beskar you were touching and you wanted more. Needed more.

Din must have fallen asleep behind his Maker forsaken helmet because he’s just watching your fingers and you feel dumb because you’re just finger fucking metal at this point. You pull your hand away but before it’s even an inch or two away he grabs your wrist. You gasp because you were sure he was asleep, and he holds your hand on the cool armor.

“Okay.” His raspy modulation sounds reluctant. It doesn’t matter

“And touch.” You point at him with your other hand.

“Okay.” More rasp from the helmet.

“Okay.” You say, attempting to pull your hand away again but he doesn’t budge, he actually presses your hand harder into the beskar.

“You want to touch here?” He questions you, almost surprised again like he cannot fathom why you would do that or why you would want to.

“If you want me to. I’m not trying to fo-”

“No no. I do.” He cuts you off quickly getting his words out so you can’t change your mind before he can answer.

“Okay. Let me go get my stuff.”

Returning with your bag of clothing from the market and you set it down beside you. Din is watching intently from the bench that’s attached to the wall.

“Well?” You look at him, crossing your arms over your chest. He mirrors you.

“You first.” Rasp from the modulator.

You roll your eyes at him.

“I always go first.” You snip at him.

“So what’s the problem?” His response almost makes you laugh but you fight it back.

“Just take the beskar off, what is your problem? Always making things difficult.” You start with the buttons on the top of your shirt.

Din shakes his head at you and lets his arms fall to his side. He’s hesitating. Watching you fidget with your shirt. You look up and see him, not moving so you stop.

“Are you going to participate or not? Because the on-” He starts to unclip his cape and you think to yourself that this is going to take so long. He’s going to draw it out.

It’s not uninteresting to watch though. You’ve never seen him take it if off, you never knew how he did it but you watch now as he unclips the other side of his cape and hangs it on a hook behind him.

You finish your buttons and slide the shirt down off your shoulders. The cool air in the ship draws goosebumps on your flesh, making your nipples stand with excitement.

“You really are beautiful.” He says as he undoes the belt around his waist. He lets one side fall and holds the other, keeping it dangling in his hand as he sets it on the bench he’s standing beside now.

You can do nothing but smile at him as he undoes a similar belt fastened across his chest. He does the same, setting it on the bench. Now it’s getting serious because you see him reach down to his side, working on the fasteners that keep his armor together.

“Do you need help?” You ask, still in your pants. He nods you over to him. Happily, you walk over to him and press yourself against his chest softly and copy what he’s doing but on the other side. You can feel the chest plate come loose from him against your chest.

“Stand back.” He rasps gently. Taking a step back, your hands falling to your own waistband to undo your own buttons and fasteners. You watch as he lifts the armor up over his head in one piece and he sets it on the ground with a soft metallic clink.

Now he’s just got a black long sleeved shirt on and it’s clung to him. It’s so tight. You can see the outline of every muscle in his arms and shoulders.

Pushing your pants to the ground now, stepping out of them and leaving them in a pile as you take your place back in front of Din.

“How do you get the bottom ones off?” You look for fasteners but see none. Din chuckles and shows you the fasteners down by his knee. You’re quick to kneel in front of him, eyes never leaving his helmet as you pull and twist the ties that keep his beskar together, stumbling because you can’t really see. You want him to look down at you.

You’re eye level with the same groin plate that you had your fingers on earlier. You lean in, eyes still looking up at Din and press your lips to it gently as the fasteners come free between your fingers. The shin guard falls against your upper thigh. You set it down gently beside you and move to Din’s other leg. You know what to do now, and you get it done quickly, you need to see him. Every inch of him from the neck down. You just have to.

“Beautiful.” His modulated voice coos down to you. He’s tucked his thumbs into his waistband and he’s pushing the belt that keeps his groin plate melded with the rest of his lower armor. It clunks as it hit the floor. Now he’s just in black. The fabric between the beskar was baggy, everything underneath was tight. Very tight. He has an erection and you can see it through his pants.

“Will you take those off?” You ask softly. You’re still on your knees in front of him,

“You have to put something on… first.” He sits back down on the bench next to his belts. He pulls his gloves off and sets them down. “Go on.” He’s left you kneeling on the floor a foot away.

It’s infuriating. Not really. Kind of. But you like it. And you’d do just about anything to see what the hell he’s got under that black outfit. You know the top half. You did a good job at memorizing it with your hands and the short minute you got to see him the other night with the lights on. But what is below is waist, Maker.

You stand and snatch the bag of clothes off the floor.

“What do you wanna see first? I got new pants–”

“Pants. Do them first.”

“You didn’t even let me finish.” You blink at him.

“I don’t care. I want to see.” He tilts his head up to you instead of your middle, where he had been looking since you stood up.

Rolling your eyes, you step into the pants quickly. You fasten them and you show him, held above your sides.

“See. So nice.” You do a spin, stopping so he can admire the back. You put one hand on your hip and pop it forward slightly, posing. “So cute.” You go to unbutton them.

“Do it slow. And bend when you take them off.” He’s giving you a demand. You raise an eyebrow. “And turn around.” He still has all his stuff on.

“Fine. But then it’s your turn to take them off.” You nod at his pants. He nods up at you.

Turning around, you slowly untie the string that keeps one side together and watch as they come undone in your fingers. You don’t know what he’s doing back there, it makes you kind of nervous but he’s never let you down so far.

The button on the other side comes next. It opens easily. You part the two pieces of fabric and slide your hands in the waistband and instead of letting them fall to your ankles the way you normally would, you begin to push them down slowly, bending as they slide down the curve of your behind. As they slide down your hips; the bend in your middle becoming more dramatic you hear Din exhale from under the helmet.

He’s watching, probably holding his breath. Liking the way you look bent over and opened up to him. You feel exposed, and naughty letting him see you in this position. You bend over a little further than you have to. You feel a warm finger on your already wet fold. Feather touch. Just a tease. You snap up and turn but he’s naked.

Everything but the helmet is on the floor next to him and he’s got one hand fisted around himself and he’s stroking his length gently.

“Can I have some?” He asks, nodding to your middle. You nod, taking another step towards him so he doesn’t have to reach. He slides the hand he has wrapped around himself between your legs and scoops your wetness into his fingers and palm and then brings it back to his erect cock. You both watch as he rubs it in and starts to stroke himself again. “Did you buy anything white?”

You look up at his helmet and nod, wondering how he knew you did. It’s just a simple dress, almost a nightgown but it was so beautiful you couldn’t say no.

“Put it on for me. Please.”

The way he says it to you makes your knees weak. You are almost too enthralled watching him touch himself the way he is to understand what he’s saying. His cock is everything you dreamed and thought it would be. It’s big, bigger than his one fist and the head is thick, a deep ridge separates it from the shaft. It glistens now with your slickness. You want to just sit on it. Fuck it. Fuck the dress. You need it inside of you.

“Please.” He says again and you see him squeeze his cock gently in his fist near the base.

“Okay.” It’s barely a whisper but you turn to grab the dress. It goes on easily over your arms and it falls right above the knee.

“Come.” He beckons you with his free hand. Obliging you take the one step closer to him. Din’s admiring you from behind the helmet. “Closer.” One curl of his first two fingers pulls you closer to him and that same hand reaches for your breast.

His hand presses against it gently and then a little harder. Your eyes flick between his hand on you and the hand he’s got on himself. He’s stretching the fabric around your soft flesh. You see your nipple, hardened beneath the thin white sheet that separates you from his hand.

“B-beautiful.” He keeps his hand like that, the fabric stretched taught over the diamond peak of your breast. He works his hand a little faster on himself while he looks. While he’s still holding on to your chest he asks. “Can you b-bend over for m-me again for me, please?” Your eyes snap up to his helmet. “And lift the dress so I can s-see?”

“Okay.” You smirk. Din’s a freak apparently, with a voyeur streak in him. You step away and the hand on your chest falls to his side.

Turning so your facing away from him, you bend at the waist, lifting the dress up above the curve of your ass and let it rest on your back. Din exhales loudly behind you.

“Can you g-get on your knees?”

You oblige him, dropping to your knees. You spread your legs so he can get a good look from the back. You’re slightly annoyed because you wanted to watch but, you like that he wants to look at you. You like that it’s not pitch black either.

“Touch.” He rasps from where he had been standing.

You have to think for a moment and then you understand. You drop your chest to the floor of the ship and put one hand between your legs and let your fingers circle around your clit slowly. You’re lips are puffy and swollen and you’re dripping . Din moans loudly. “Y-yes.” It's drawn out. You start to move them quicker, a moan pulled from your chest quietly as you do so.

“Do not look away from the wall, understand?” You almost turn around because he’s right behind you now, but what he says registers, and the fact that his raspiness of the modulator is gone lets you know he’s got his helmet off, now you get it.

Without another warning, Din’s mouth is on you. You move your hand to give him as much access as he wants. One hand is brushing against your knees, urging you to push them apart. You open them wider and keep your eyes on the wall. His tongue parts your slit, and now that you’re spread, his hands grip your ass tightly in each palm and he opens you.

The warm softness of his tongue sliding between your velvet is just how you remember. The flat wideness of his tongue licks you from your already tingling clit, up over your entrance and then, a whole new experience of that same soft warmness on your tight, puckered hole. You hear him sigh softly, and feel the warm air being expelled from his nose. Din swirls his tongue around your asshole and then the tightness and the pressure of him pushing it inside of you.

You’re a puddle. It’s a new feeling, not a bad one. His hands are gripping your soft cheeks tightly as he pulls you apart, lapping at your hole. It feels so good, not like when he licks you anywhere else. It’s a whole different bracket of pleasure. You know that it won’t ever make you feel the way it does when you come, not like that but it does feel good. Especially because Din is doing it to you.

“I want to taste every inch of you.” He’s panting softly against your skin, kissing now along your cheeks and up to your back. “I want to lick and suck and kiss every fucking inch of you.” He’s kissing up your spine now, his hands still spreading you.

“Please.” You gasp out as he presses the tip of himself in the middle of your spread cheeks.

“Would you let me?” His voice is deep, but still soft. It demands something from you and you’re willing to give it to him. “Put it in here?”

“I’d let you do anything you want.” It’s said in a dreamy tone because you wouldn’t think you’d even care if it hurt because you want him inside of you in any capacity.

“So good. You’re so good.” He moans and rubs the head around your tight, puckered canal. “I want to. I want it so bad.” You anticipate fiery pain but he pulls away. “Stay there.” And then his hands are gone and the heat radiating off of him is gone from behind you and you audibly whine in disappointment because you were sure that you were going to feel him inside of you.

“Why?” The question is long and drawn out in another whine. “Please come back.”

“You come here.” His modulated rasp beckons you. You look over your shoulder and he’s sitting back on the bench, his hard cock is in his fist and he’s pumping it up and down. You see the muscles in his arms and shoulders tense and relax as he does it. “Come. Please.” He calls you over with his other hand, two fingers curling towards him.

You crawl to him and Din lets his head fall back against the wall behind him. You’re between his legs, mouth already open because you hope that he’s going to let you do it. He does, he takes the hand that called you over and runs his fingers through your hair.

“You want it?” His raspy modulation tone is back but you don’t care. You nod up at him, his grip in your hair tightens. “You’re going to let me feed it to you like last time?” You nod again, sticking your tongue out of your mouth, showing him where you want him to put it. “G-good, Maker. So p-perfect and beautiful.”

Din rubs the tip of his cock along the flat of your tongue and groans loudly, pulling his hips back suddenly.

“So soft.” He’s amazed by you once again. He rubs the tip against your tongue again while still thrusting his fist up and down on himself. He’s staring down at you through the helmet. You’d swear into the creed or whatever it would take just to get him to take it off. You slowly wrap your lips around the head of his cock, swirling your tongue along the ridge that separates it from the length of him.

Din lets out a sound you’ve never heard from him before. It’s a choked back sob of pleasure. It motivates you to take more of him into your mouth, sucking and pulling the length of him into the back of your throat. You stop when you feel the head of his cock start to gag you.

“No don’t.” Din cries out as you begin to pull away, gently with his fingers still gripping your hair he pulls you back down, this time enough for the tip of your nose to touch his lower stomach. You gag softly, tears pickle at the outer corners of your eyes. “Y-you feel s-so good.”

You lift your eyes from the base of him, to his helmet and he’s got his head leaned back against the wall of the hull. His other hand now find your hair and he begins to lift your head and push you down on his cock gently, fucking your face. It’s not aggressive, just enough to make you gag softly with every thrust forward of his hips and downward pull on your head. The raspy moans coming from his helmet are enough for you to try and relax your throat as much as you can, trying to take him deeper and make those moans more desperate.

You feel the thick head of him slip past the tightness of your throat and he gasps, his grip tightens on your hair. You’re struggling a little bit, not letting his girth overwhelm you but you stay relaxed as he starts thrusting into your mouth with determination. Still not aggressive but you can tell he’s not going to last long, so you put your hands on his thighs and feel how strong he really is and you know he’s holding back. He doesn’t want to hurt you.

“Oh Maker.” He moans and pulls back. He leaves your mouth and throat with an audible wet sucking noise and his fist is wraps around his length again. “Keep it open.” He moans softly and pulls you in closer by your hair. “Say you want it, please.” You know he’s going to come, he’s thrusting his fist up and down on himself so vigorously. Between your legs is aching. Keeping your mouth open, you stick your tongue back out and drop so you’re almost below him so he can aim.

“I want it so bad. Please give it to me.” You beg up to him.

And Din does. He shoots rope after rope of hot white onto your face. Most of it goes into your mouth but he missed the first two. Shooting out across your nose and cheek. Din’s hand is still in your hair, his muscular chest rises and falls with each breath and his helmet is turned down to gaze at you.

“So beautiful,” His hand leaves him, his fingers press against your cheek and he drags the spilled come to your mouth and pushes his fingers past your lips. “You like when I feed it to you?” He’s cooing raspily to you as you suck his fingers clean. You nod while your tongue slides down the space between his fingers. He does this again until there is nothing left on your face but your own saliva. “Good. I like doing it.”

You stare up at him in adoration. You think you’re infatuated with him. Din’s been the only thing on your mind since that night you first shared together.

“Do you want me to do that for you?” He asks. You nod. “It has to be dark.”

“Okay.”

Before he turns the lights off, he slips the dress over your head and lets his hands explore the front of you. His palms pressed flat against your breasts, squeezing them.

“Sit,” He nods to the bench that his belts are still on and you look at him confused. “I’ll show you.”

You sit on the bench and Din takes one of your feet and places it on the edge of the bench, just behind your thigh. He does the same thing with the other. You’re against the hull of the ship, the cool metal pressed tightly to your back. Then in a swift motion, Din slides his hands up your shins, grabs your knees and pushes them apart. You’re shocked at how far your legs go. “Stay just like that.” He leaves the room and suddenly you’re plunged into the darkness again.

You don’t hear him come back, you only feel his warm breath on your inner thighs.

“Din.” You whimper softly, your hands go to where you think his hair is but you miss by so far, so so far and there’s warm wetness on the tip of one of your fingers. Something hard and then your fingers being enveloped in warmth and wetness. Din sucks your finger into his mouth. It’s not what you had intended, you wanted your fingers in his hair, but him sucking on your finger the way you just had been was erotic and was making you wetter.

Now, with an idea of where his hair is, you reach more carefully, your fingers finding the thick, coarse hair that you had been searching for before and you grip it as his tongue swirls around your digit. You whimper when he bites the end of your finger gently as he pulls away from your hand. You were so wrapped up in how noteworthy this feeling was– you would be asking Din to do it again in the future– it felt that it didn’t cross your mind to pull it away.

Now that you have both hands available, and you know where his hair is, you grip it gently.

“Make m-me do it.” Din’s whispering against the spot just above your slit, his tongue dips out from between his lips and licks you there once, softly. “P-please, m-make-” You don’t let him finish before you tighten your grip and push his head just the half inch he wanted you to. Din had his tongue ready to lap at you the second he touched you. He went to work with the big slow circles that have no meaning, they’re just to make you know he’s there.

His fingers are pushing into you rhythmically, but again with no real pressure or force. He just wants you to know that he’s there. You do. You feel so incredibly vulnerable in this position. Splayed wider than you thought you could be. Din presses the flat of his tongue against your clit, applying pressure and moves it up and down slowly. The feeling makes you moan and you don’t have to hold back as much tonight. So you don't. You let the moan– that starts deep in your chest– roll out of you and your head falls back against the hull of the ship with a low, metallic clank and it echoes softly.

You and Din both laugh at the sound in the darkness. His warm breath is so comforting as he goes back to lapping at you, his fingers curling inside of you slowly now, edging that orgasm he was trying to coax out of you closer.

“Din.” It’s another deep moan and your fingers clench his hair harder. He takes one of your feet and places it on his shoulder. You move the other one to his shoulder too and now you can scoot yourself further towards his mouth. Your hips start to roll against his hands and mouth.

He moans, apparently loving your enthusiasm and pushes his fingers against that raised patch inside of you and starts to thrust them in and out. Your sounds of excitement and slickness fill the room and he moans again, his tongue finding those tight circles in the perfect rhythm. He wants to hear you come. Not just watch tonight.

“P-please.” You whimper, the feeling of your climax is so close and you know he’s about to bring you there. “I wann-” Your whined plea is cut short as he quickened his pace with the drives forward of his hand. “Oh M-maker. Maker. Din. Din. Oh Din.” All the words strained as you feel him send you over that edge he was bringing you too.

“Oh Din. Yes. Oh yes. Yes.” They’re almost just breath spoken as he milks and sucks the orgasm out of you, his lips wrapped around your clit now, sucking softly as he continues fucking you with his fingers. Now, along with the thrusts, he stops and curls his fingers against that patch and does it again. It makes you arch your back and you do have to bite your lip because you can’t scream. You want to but you can’t.

You shiver as the last sensations of bliss leave you and the overwhelming twitches and soft jerks of your body at his tongue on you again. But he knows, he can tell by the way you pull his hair. He carefully laps at your entrance, his tongue cleaning and tasting you at the same time. Din’s got his hands on your ankles now so you can’t move them. He’s going to do this for as long as he wants and that’s completely fine with you.

Resting your head on the hull, you’re panting. Heart is pounding. Everything about it was incredible. You’re upset you didn’t come here sooner to do this because you were able to enjoy yourself without having to worry about waking up the child.��

“I want to do something with you, but you might not like it.” Din says from the dark.

You honestly would let him do whatever he wanted. You did not care. Especially in that moment.

“Do whatever you want to me. As long as I do that at the end. I don’t give a shit.” You finally let go of his hair and let your hands push you up off the bench. As good as it was, it was not the most comfortable and now your knees and tailbone hurt.

“You say that now.” He laughs softly. His modulator still hasn’t returned.

what the HELL could this helmeted man have in store for you?????

HINT: this gif has a clue.

tag list: @glitterymanboy @thereaperisabitch @pedrospookie @furiousmushroom

willing to add or remove whoever asks for either one.

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin x you #din djarin #horny!din #kinky!din #voyuerism!din #fanfic #smut #long reads #din/you #mando x reader #mando fanfiction #mando smut #grogu #mando x you

30 notes · View notes

ghoulfuckersincorporated · 3 days ago

Note

any thoughts on charon and virgin reader??

As with most questions to which this should not be my response, I have many. This actually isn't the only ask for Charon x Virgin!Reader content, and I'm happy to give you a taste of what I think he'd be like while I finish up the one-shot I have for it.

Charon (Fallout 3) x Virgin!Reader NSFW Headcanons

Pretty terrified of the idea of fucking a virgin. Charon does not fetishize virginity or inexperience, but he won't be disappointed if he finds out you're a virgin...per se. He's disappointed for you that you're choosing him to be the one to take your virginity, even if the concept doesn't mean anything to you. You deserve better than him. Then again, you'd deserve better than him if you weren't a virgin, and you want him anyway, so it's not a deal-breaker by any means. Just don't be shocked if he seems nervous or distracted.

If he doesn't see you take Rad-X with his own eyes beforehand, he'll make you take some, even if you already have. If there's none around, well. Tough. You won't be doing more than fooling around. He's stubborn, and if you've never had sex before, then you've definitely never had sex with a ghoul before and have no way to know how your body will respond. If there's no Radaway for you to use afterwards, same story. No radiation countermeasures, no love.

Tries his best to be sweet, or the closest he can get. It doesn't come naturally to him, kind words and soft touches and such. It never did in his pre-ghoul years so long ago, and the life he's lived since then has only made him harder, colder. Still, he can kiss you softly, pet and caress you as gently as he can. Maybe think of something nice to say (though that is a hard "maybe"). He'll hold your hand when you get nervous and even cuddle with you a little when it's all over, another move that isn't typical of him.

He's worried about how big he is, but he's also just worried about his lack of finesse in general. He's a large, lumbering guy with big, clumsy hands...hands it isn't hard to forget the strength of in the heat of the moment. That looming fear of his own strength isn't an unfounded one; you'll likely come out a little bruised no matter how gentle he tries to be. Spends a lot of his energy during sex holding himself up off of you so he doesn't crush you with his weight if he's on top.

He'll guide you if you want (or need), but by and large, he'll prefer if you're the one in charge. What do you like? How naked do you want to be? What position do you want to be in? If you're so virginal that you're both unknowledgeable as well as inexperienced, and thus unable to provide much input that isn't right in the moment, he's gonna keep things as simple as possible.

Secretly spends the entire first time the two of you have penetrative sex assuming you'll regret it sooner or later. You'd think that would ruin it for him, and it certainly...colors it, but overall he's determined to make the best of what he's been offered and try to show you a decent time. Hopes that if he can at least make it good for you, you might regret it a little less.

Has difficulty finishing. He normally does anyway, as he has trouble relaxing enough to be in the moment a lot of the time. But the problem multiplies tenfold if he knows it's your first time; all the fixating he's doing on you, monitoring you for signs of distress or pain, distracts him from his own pleasure. He might be able to relax enough to cum if you finish him off with your hands or mouth, but he likely won't climax otherwise.

Won't touch you again for at least a few days afterwards. Wants you to have time to properly recuperate more than he wants to feel you wrapped around him again (which is a LOT). Even if you came out of that first time rather intact, he'll treat you like he absolutely savaged you.

The possessive animal part of his brain is suddenly a lot more attached to you afterwards, and he's even more protective than he was previously. It's probably just a coincidence.

#charon fo3 #charon smut #charon x lone wanderer #charon x reader #charon x you #charon fo3 headcanons #charon x virgin!reader #fallout 3 #fo3 #submission

25 notes · View notes

junedenim · 2 days ago

Text

2012

beneath the boardwalk, part 10 (series masterlist)

why'd you only call me when you're high?

warnings: a whole lot of angst, temptation, nostalgia, and nothing

word count: 10.4k

Squished between two couch cushions watching Real Housewives, I got a call from Alex. "Did I wake you?" He questioned. It was late or early depending on who you asked. I had been woken up from a cold I was suffering from. He had never gone to bed.

"No, no, I'm just sitting around, suffocating," I complained. His voice was rough, but not thick with phlegm like mine. He chuckled in a rhythmic format, beat after beat. He sounded like he was sinking into himself, his flesh turning to goo. I heard his lips smack together as if he was chewing on a piece of hay. I coughed, the harshness reaching him miles and miles away. "You alright?"

"Yeah." I think he was chewing gum. "Just got home."

I hummed with understanding. "Did you have a nice night?"

He made a noise of indifference. "How long you been sick?"

"Two days now and it's not getting any better." I sniffled and stuffed a tissue up my nostril, thankful that I lived alone. "Think I caught it at a New Year's Party. I'm worried I have mono."

"Why? You've been kissing a bunch of people?" His words hung in the middle of us. Both of us moving on from one another had been unspoken. We were still on a break for all intents and purposes, even if he was with Arielle. Another thing we never talked about.

I gave the best laugh I could do without coughing. "It's supposed to be good luck. I also ate 12 grapes and banged bread against the wall."

"Did you really?" He amusingly asked.

"No, well, not the bread part." I sighed. "Now, I'm just sitting on the couch watching shitty reruns. I can't fall back asleep."

"Neither can I," he said.

I hesitated and curled up under my blanket. "Is that why you called me at 4 in the morning?" I said it with a laugh to ease any tensions that may arise.

"It's only 1 here."

"Right. I forgot about the time difference." It didn't seem right for him to be so far away permanently. None of this seemed like the correct order of things. It was a misalignment but there could be no corrective measure.

"Yeah, I kind of did too." There was a pause like he was thinking things over. Like he might have had something to say but now he couldn't find it. "I'll let you go then." In more ways than one.

Alex was a cloud. He was away on tour, far away and out of reach. We talked less but not intentionally. We both just got really busy and we didn't need each other for that constant contact anymore. I was plummeting toward the wildest time of my life and he was up to his usual unable-to-contact schedule. Somewhere in Australia first then opening for The Black Keys. Plus, he had Arielle.

The new girlfriend thing didn't bug me much, at least, not in the form of jealousy. It was a strange thing. I hadn't fully adjusted to the idea but it was much easier when he was nowhere near my life. If it had happened when we were younger, I think I would've punished myself for it, but I had grown into a far lighter figure who understood not everyone was trying to make a mark against me. Alex was living his own life, which for the past few years had been dedicated to one person. It was "seeing what else was out there."

I was alone for the most part. I saw Jackson nearly every day, whether for work or leisure, but I was getting used to being alone for long grasps of time. I spent time writing in my notebook like the old days. A therapy session that I locked away in a drawer. I rotted in my room for days. I watched all of The Sopranos, practiced the splits, and thought about getting a cat. It was winter and a very boring time.

But around the end of January, I did my first interview. It was small and nothing huge, but it was talking about my work in-depth for the first time with a stranger. I pretended I was talking to Alex.

Alex and I didn't stop talking completely. I called him on his birthday, briefly, and we had a long chat toward the end of January where we caught up with one another. Neither of us had much to tell. He had been touring. I had been crawling around New York doing next to nothing, besides book matters and talking about my "marketability."

Alex laughed at this. "Yeah, they tend to do that. Try to whittle you down to one trait."

"It's making me feel insecure." I laughed at it but it felt small inside me, burning its way out.

Alex hummed in agreement. "Well, at least you're not a pimple-ridden kid doing it."

It wasn't something he talked about much. He hated people giving him attention, yet he was in a career that commanded eyes to be focused on him. It was one of our many skimmed-over conversations. In some ways, it made me feel like I didn't know Alex. We both hid parts of ourselves from one another and knew that the other did this. That burning curiosity we used to have probably went out once we started to live with one another. You know someone for long enough that it begins to feel like you know every inch of them. I slept with him night after night but I wondered if I ever knew what was ticking on in his head before he fell asleep. What was he thinking when he sat outside with a closed notebook? Why did he turn away?

I didn't even know why I turned away. I wrote repeatedly in my notebook, questioning why I couldn't make it work with Alex. I resisted jumping into a relationship because of that. If I couldn't make it work with Alex then it probably wouldn't work with anyone, especially during that portion of my life. I didn't know what it meant to be alone, like really alone.

I deflected a lot. I even deflected earlier in this book. I was devastated by the loss of Alex and I don't think it hit me until much later because I always had an anvil weighing on the back of my head telling me it wasn't over. Arielle complicated those ideals and I think for a while I was on my back unable to regain upright status. I was flailing.

That's why I paused. When 2012 hit, I was forced into a corner. I felt distant from who I was but still so far away from who I was becoming. I felt like I was the roots of the tree that had been cut down. I was left to be a stump.

One night, over a joint, I told Jackson I didn't feel British. Jackson, a Californian boy through and through, did not understand this. He laughed from the high while the smoke just made me more disoriented. He told me that I was "perfectly British." To me, that sounded like some marketing strategy. That's what the book would be marketed as—a British girl coming to America; her cold skin meeting the California sun. It made me hate the book. Or I hated myself, the lines were blurring.

I thought I had grown away from forms of jealousy. I have just previously insisted to you that I experienced no feelings of envy toward Arielle...but I did. It was ignored and then it couldn't be. The "R U Mine?" music video featured Arielle and a "new" Alex. I'm not a fan of the insinuation Alex suddenly changed after we broke up, besides his hair and fresh Sheffield tattoo, I would come to know Alex was exactly the same. Alex never quite changes. He's always been suave. It's hard to take a 20-year-old as seriously as a 25-year-old, especially when he is still pimple-ridden.

I found my jealousy toward Arielle in regard to "R U Mine?" was the same as when Alex showed me "Bigger Boys and Stolen Sweethearts" because, honestly, since then Alex's only explicit romantic muse (the word makes me want to barf, but that's what I was) was me. It's the weird thing of being with a writer, especially with personal subjects. It's beautiful when it's for you but then you realize that it was never really for you. It was about you. Alex didn't write a song to make me feel loved. He wrote a song because he liked writing songs.

Unknowingly, I always felt that. It's why I didn't swoon every time I heard "Mardy Bum." I loved it as a song but it didn't feel like a love letter. I felt Alex's love in far different ways. As the years went on, I would find love letters in songs, but at the center, I found his love in crevices: a note from college, a smoke outside a pub, a cooked meal, folded laundry—god, I sound old.

But his love wasn't restricted to those songs. Just as my love isn't restricted to this tome. This is a love letter in pieces for Alex but it's also for my youth. I found around this time, I began to reflect on those early years. Nearly 10 years out from 2003, I became a preservationist. I jotted down my memory of my first conversation with Alex. I tucked it away in my drawer, no use for it yet.

Alex called me on my birthday. He wasn't too far away, somewhere between Portland and Boston on a bus. It was late with only an hour left to my birthday, which I had spent drinking with friends. It was a rather simple birthday. It could've been just another night, minus the cake (red velvet with frosted flowers on top of it) that Fennel and Kaka purchased for me.

Alex texted me in the morning. Something akin to Hey. Happy birthday. Al.

It was formal and if it didn't make me laugh so much I think I'd be hurt by it. But Alex always texted like that as if he was penning a letter. The letter was awfully short but it was sent at 4 AM, which made me believe he either had no sleep or had just woken up.

I was expecting more and I got more. When I was drunk.

"Hi," I said, shoving the phone to my ear as a subway train came roaring by.

He chuckled, hearing the noise. "Hi." He waited for it to pass fully before continuing, "Happy birthday."

"Thank you."

"Did you spend it good?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty drunk."

"Alright, then, I won't keep you long."

"No," I insisted. "Stay on the phone with me." I was pleading. I didn't want to let go of him. "At least, until I'm home." I wasn't far away but I lied and acted like I was further away, keeping him on the line with me, even as we lost connection at various times.

"Sorry I didn't get you anything," he said halfway through the subway ride.

"I didn't get you anything,” I reminded him.

"Yeah. Feels weird."

We hummed in silence because we both knew how abnormal this was. We weren't friends. Alex and I were never friends. Nothing ever went away or could ever go away. We were struggling to redefine what we were. We could never disentangle from one another. It pulled us back toward one another, even when we shouldn't have.

"I was going to get you that, uh, milkshake maker so you wouldn't have to pay extra at Morgenstern's for one." I didn't know a person could get so emotional over a milkshake maker that they would feel like crying on the F train. I might be the only person ever.

It was such a stupid gift. I would probably get two uses out of the machine before it broke and it wouldn't be as good as Morgenstern's makes theirs and it would go to waste. Still, I can imagine if he did get it for me. How after I unwrapped it we would go to Morgenstern's and get a pint of ice cream and Alex would make me a milkshake. One just for me. If I was feeling generous enough, we'd share the straw.

None of this would have happened, even if we were together. He'd still be in between Portland and Boston and I'd still be riding the F, wishing he was with me. It was comforting that maybe I had done the right thing, even if it felt so hard.

"Well, you can get it for me for Christmas."

He laughed and said, "Okay."

Black leather loafers with black wool flannel trousers. A white poplin shirt, two buttons loose at the top and at the bottom. I had a black corduroy jacket that Jackson held for me. I felt like I was dressing up in my mother's clothes. I was doing book press. It was an unfitting experience but I held the hardcover book in my hand. It felt unnatural but I liked my authour's photo.

By that point, I was so far removed from the contents of the book. I started to second-guess it even coming out. It felt like my diary, even if it was evasive at times and cut out the personal from that time (Alex is not mentioned once, not even as the person I moved to LA for). Still, it was exposing, but it was real now and it was sitting in my hand.

Alex came to town a week later, opening for The Black Keys. I didn't see the show—things were getting too busy by that point. I asked Alex if we could meet for a quick lunch and he accepted.

We met at Westville, a cute restaurant, but by no means romantic. I felt a need for that to be clear. I worried about Arielle worrying that I was trying to "steal" Alex or whatever that meant. I don't think she ever did. After all, she had the guy and I was resigned with no longer having the guy. It wasn't the bitch fight it has been imagined to be.

I waited for Alex outside the restaurant, smoking a cigarette to achieve my all-time high of cigarettes per day (this was not a good year for my lungs). I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. I wanted to look cool but relaxed. I wore the previously mentioned black loafers to make it look like I didn't roll out of bed and throw some jeans on.

Alex wore the same thing: jeans, T-shirt, loafers...and a leather jacket. It was a hotter March day when spring was beginning to peek through and relieve the bitterness of winter. He was across the street stuck at a streetlight and I waved to him and he waved back. Then, we just stared at each other, waiting for the light to turn green.

He crossed, said hi, and hugged me. Every move was made with slight awkwardness. We hadn't been alone together since he moved out. "Have you been waiting long?" He asked.

I shook my head. "Got here early, just for a smoke. Do you want to go in now?"

"Yeah. Yeah." He bobbed his head.

I put my cigarette out and he followed me into the restaurant. "Your hair is back to normal." My natural brown. It was better for me to not play pretend when promoting a book about my own life.

"Yours isn't," I commented. It came off snarkier than I wanted it to.

He shrugged and smiled to ease the thick fat of awkwardness. "Yeah, well, you know." He didn't say it but this was the new normal for him, which was fine, but it was different from what I knew. When I dreamed about him or pictured him, it was still with a curling mop top or, you know, just the mop if I was dreaming of '09.

"Tattoo too," I added.

"Yeah."

"You're a changed man."

"Yeah."

Our heads ducked down and we stared at the menus in silence. It was a challenge of who would speak first—seriously speak, not those little comments over what looks good.

After we ordered, I said, "Sorry I'm not able to go tonight."

He waved me off. "You've already been to too many shows. Don't worry."

"Well, I like going. It feels weird not to go."

"Yeah." Somewhere in that word, I knew what he meant. It had been years since Alex had the ability to spot people in the crowd, but he told me once that there was a comfort in knowing I was somewhere in there, that even if he messed up, there would always be someone there at the end of it all. I wonder if he was still getting used to someone else being at the end of it all.

He sipped his water to cut off the look on his face. I decided to cut to the fat of it. "I, uh, have something to give you."

"Why do I feel like it's something bad?" He cracked a laugh, lifting the air in the room.

I picked up my bag. "I hope not."

I dug through my things slowly. It was held in my hands but I still had to catch my breath before I lifted it out. I saw a squint on his face as he tried to imagine what it was. I passed it across the table and his hands took it. That is when it all started to feel real; seeing his eyes land on it, his hands run down its spine with him smiling. "It's a first edition," I joked.

He raised an eyebrow, flipping it open. "Is it signed?" I laughed. I'm not sure what made me happier: him holding my book or joking around with him again. He opened the other end of the book. "Good author photo."

"I'm quite happy with it." Somewhere in that bittersweetness, I did feel content. It was never how I imagined him holding my first book. Parts of me were swallowed with sorrow that I would never experience this in the way I wanted—a desperate romantic lovemaking all-consuming kind of way—but there were small parts in me that were happy that we could still have this. I don't know if we kept dragging things out this would have been as joyous. That this would have felt like closure.

Alex looked up, meeting my eyes. A small smile played on his lips. The kind that can't be faked in any way. It was real and from the hurt. It was that pride he always had in me. The pride that kept me going for far longer than I'd ever imagined. I wrote the book, but he made the book. I never would've written anything close to it without him. I'd probably be stuck fucking Robert in London if it wasn't for him. It was my reassurance to him that he didn't have to make up for the sudden move to LA as he constantly tried to do. He wasn't in the book, but he was the book. It's why I dedicated it to him. It's why on the last page of his edition of the book I wrote: Don't make fun of me, Al. Thank you for this. I hope you know why. Love, Jane C.

I questioned the "love" part. I didn't want to make him uncomfortable but it would have been far more awkward to write something like "sincerely." I wasn't one for lying, especially about my love for Alex. It was something layered. It didn't rest in that romantic love. He wasn't just my boyfriend and he wasn't just my best friend. It's hard for a writer to find the word. It's nudged somewhere in this book. In all these little words.

"I wanted you to be the first to have it," I said. "Well, one of the first. Wanted to see the look on your face."

He looked back down at the book. Mild disbelief spread across his face as he looked back and forth between the book and me. "Thanks." He wasn't sure what else to say. He rolled everything around and looked as if he was choking on the bone of a chicken.

"It's been a little weird these past few months," I said while picking at my fingernails, an assured sign to Alex that I was referring to us. "I don't want it to feel weird. So, don't cry or anything," I joked.

He chuckled, dislodging the lump. He flipped the book over one more time before placing it on the table. "I'll try not to. I knew you could do it." He stared right at me, emphasizing every little syllable. The awkwardness faded from him and he leaned onto the table. His smile was small but bright. I could find a million different meanings in it, each meaning just as much.

"I know you did. You always did," I told him. "I had this dream last night. It was weird and blurry but we were driving around Sheffield or some weird ghost thing was driving us. It's hard to describe. I don't know. I think it was a sign or something. I'm not sure of what but just those early days of us talking. That's when I really started to write. I suppose my mind was thinking about this lunch and conjured up some old memories."

He smiled at me the whole time, eyes never leaving me, even when I glanced away. "Well, I had a dream that I was one of the animals left off of Noah's Ark, so, you tell me what that means."

I told him it had something to do with his fear of being left behind and he rolled his eyes and said I was trying to be Freud. Lunch came and we ate and laughed and agreed to split the check. He told me he would read the whole book tonight if he could. We hugged goodbye and he whispered in my ear, "I'll send you a proper review."

A few days later, Alex emailed me. It was long. Very long and detailed like he had taken a note on every page. He pulled the sentences he liked the most out, which turned out to be about half the book. I would later write back and ask what that meant for the other half of the book. He said they were left off Noah's Ark too. Continuing his initial email, Alex wrote at the bottom:

You did it. I hope you feel that too. Thank you, Al.

I had a book tour. A minimal one since there wasn't the highest of expectations and I didn't want to go to Omaha, Nebraska. So, there was Boston, New York, Atlanta, Chicago, Houston, and Los Angeles. I hated the whole thing. I always wanted to go to these places but I wasn't really going to these places. We lingered in Chicago at the end of July, but it was the equivalent of touring with Alex, except this time I was Alex.

I've never enjoyed talking about my work either but it was nice that people thought it was nice. But that part still felt awkward to me too. Like, people actually read this??? It eased up as it went along. It was a short tour anyway. I wasn't going to Tokyo or anything.

I thought about myself a lot. It was a little lonely but I had adapted to that. Jackson was my only company on the road and it was easy for us to get sick of one another. We had both grown bored with one another, both slightly exhausted from these months so closely intertwined. I thought about Al, often. I thought about myself, often.

Could it be possible that I did everything right? No. I never thought that but I didn't think I did everything wrong. I had cracks in the surface of me and guts that spilled out. I said everything with my pen but nothing with my lips. I hid myself under the disguise of a freshly lonesome girl who knew the only means to move on was to forget. But I didn't forget anything, only myself, just for a little. Pieces of me dropped on the side of the highway. We drove for days and I found no meaning in it, only wondering did he feel like this all the time? How did he bear this loss of self?

I asked myself questions and never got any answers. I felt everything but there was never any meaning in it. There were closed-off vessels, no means to transport blood or oxygen, yet, I was still moving. I suppose that was the only thing left to cling to. I still had the memory of it and those never made me sad. I experienced it. How fortunate was I to be cracked open and exposed to this impenetrable love? I still felt it. We were both on the end of the same wire. It was bent and twisted, knots made to keep strong but disrupt transmission. No love lost. Just changed. I know good comes from change. I didn't feel the goodness but I could taste it coming. So much else was happening. I would hate myself forever for wasting those precious few days of enjoyment in place of a relationship that didn't need nourishment anymore. It was about me. I wanted it to be about me for so long and it finally was. Don't waste it.

The mini-tour ended in LA at the start of August. Summer had whipped me in the face so hard I forgot the season even existed, until I was stuck in the sweaty, SoCal heat, dying for a drop of water. The first night—the day before the Q&A and book signing—Jackson and I got dinner and drinks with Opal.

It was nice to let loose after feeling so pinned up for most of the summer. The liquor soothed my sunburnt skin and I decided the tour as a whole wasn't too bad—I was about 3 drinks in at this point. Then, after another drink, I texted Alex telling him I was in town. The last we chatted was a week or so before when the band opened for the London Olympics. I watched it later on YouTube and told him he did a bang-up job. He told me he nearly shat himself.

Alex had returned to LA since. The city had become his permanent home since the tour had ended. He bought a house out here and everyone in the band, for the most part, had relocated too. So, in my drunken state, I told him I was there and we should hang before I went back to New York.

When I woke up, it was an embarrassing text of I'm in LA, AL. Even in my drunken state, I wrote with proper grammar. Alex wrote back, Come on over. This was in the early hours of the day so he must have been up by some similar means too.

The following night, I panicked. I wondered if this is what single people felt like all the time. Prior to this, I had never faced intimidation when hanging out with Alex, except maybe when I was 17 and that type of thing could be labelled as teenage anxiety. But, no, this was a thing that would plague me the rest of my dating life and I wasn't even going on a date with him. Alex is the only "ex" I had stayed in contact with up to that point. Most of my friends didn't do this type of thing either, at least not Opal who lived by the mentality that once people were gone they were gone forever.

Half my anxiety came from the limited wardrobe out of my suitcase but considering it was just dinner and a dinner that would be had with the other bandmates and the girlfriends, there should've been no pressure. I wouldn't have told you this at the time, I barely want to write it down now, but the nerves I felt weren’t because of Alex, they were because of Arielle. Part of me wanted to be conceived as a non-threat. I was over those days. The other part of me—the stronger part—wanted her to be jealous of me and question why Alex and I ever broke up. I wasn't fully-formed yet.

The two sides fought and then I just settled on jeans and a tank top because it was boiling outside and I was having drinks at Al's place, not the Windsors. Luckily, I showed up after Jamie and Katie so I thought of using Katie as a shield. I didn't accept Katie and Arielle to be talking though. The word traitor crossed through my brain and then I thought I must be regressing to my college days when Rosie and Will would feel each other up in front of me. Arielle was nice and I was probably an anxious bitch.

So, I hugged both of them as Alex came into the living room. He was staggering, dressed casually beside his uniform slicked hair. "Hey there," he greeted. He was calm, not an awkward bone in his body. He knew he had the upper hand. We were on his home turf with his hot girlfriend and I was a single mess who had been on plane after plane and stunk of cigarettes.

The room was hot with sweat dripping off every surface it seemed. The air conditioner was running but the flaming air came rushing in with the swing of the front door as Matt and Breana entered. The room became distracted by them, both looking darling. I hugged each of them, distracting myself in their grasp.

Arielle had lit candles for the dining table. It was the only thing formal about the informal event. The house itself was rather bare. Alex never carried much, I was always the one with the shit.

Alex tapped my arm. "You want a drink?"

"What do you have?" I asked.

He waved his arm and I followed him to the kitchen, isolating ourselves. "Beer, wine, tequila, vodka, all the fixings. I can make you something if you'd like. Margarita?"

"Anything non-alcoholic?" Alcohol would ease my nerves but it would lead to my loud mouth and I couldn't afford that tonight.

He looked bewildered. "Who are you?" He joked.

We kept our distance. I pushed my hair behind my shoulder. "Got real drunk with Opal and Jackson last night. Figured I'd keep it clean. At least for now."

"Right then. Iced tea?"

He knew me well. I laughed at his smile and agreed to this. I moved closer to the refrigerator to just feel the cold air on my skin. He poured the glass, leaving the door open for me. I chugged the coldness like it was the elixir of life. It felt like my lungs re-inflated when the liquid dispersed and his eyes looked at mine again, so clearly over that fogged-up glass. Wet brown eyes into my baby blues and it felt like he might reach out and snatch them out of my eyes and keep them for himself. He always liked them. He has a thing for blue eyes.

We talked around the dining table, eating a mix of something Arielle had cooked and pizza. I had the pizza. Everyone talked loosely about things I had no knowledge of. Jokes about LA and all these people I had no concept of. I suppose if they had come to New York it would have been similar, except they all shared this with one another.

The sweet Breana turned the attention onto me, which partially made me shrink and revel in the joy of being included. "Oh, Jane, I loved the book!" Everyone chanted in similar sentiments all at once.

I laughed and took a bite of my pizza crust. "You didn't all read it," I laughed.

"I read parts of it," Jamie said. They were all sweet but I'm unsure how often any of them even had the chance to pick up a book, let alone their best friend's ex-girlfriend. Because that's what I was now. That was my title.

Alex looked at me. I could hear my mother's words ringing through his lips so I smiled and said, "Thank you."

"Disappointed I wasn't in it more," Matt said. "You know if it wasn't for me the book would've never been made." The long story of it has made that true but I can't give Matt credit for everything, it might go to his head too much.

"How's that?" Arielle asked. Everything shifted after that. We could all tell that she had been the wrong one to ask that question. Whether she was clueless and curious or was trying to make a dig at Alex, I wasn't sure, but I felt like an imposition being there. I didn't feel like an out-of-town friend. I felt like an ex-girlfriend.

Nobody spoke so I spoke. "Matt introduced me and Alex." I sipped my drink to wash down any other awkwardness.

Everyone seemed awkward other than Arielle. She quickly nodded and said, "Oh, yeah, Al told me that." I wondered why everyone else was so stiff when Arielle didn't seem to have much of a problem with it. Why should she when she looked like that?

I felt frumpy and had to pee badly from all the iced tea I had drank but I was too scared to go to the bathroom and see her things mixed with Alex's things. I could leave there with ambiguity and the belief that Alex didn't move on so quickly and I was stuck being alone.

"That was our first gig," Matt said. He seemed to relax, always the person to slice through any amount of tension. "Almost 10 years ago now."

"What was it like?" Arielle asked.

"Awful," Alex said. His eyes pointed toward me. "Right?"

"I don't know. I never reviewed it, remember?" He laughed and it felt inappropriate to display this inside language in front of everyone. "It feels weird that I'm the only one here who watched it." Even if that had been the case for many years, it had been a while since we all gathered around in a circle and talked about those days.

"I wasn't even there," Nick remarked. The room buckled with chuckles.

I laid my forehead against the palm of my hand resting against the table. "God," I said, "I spent that whole show with Will’s hand on my ass and Joanie screaming in my ear."

"Oh, god, Joanie," Matt muttered.

"Oh, god, Will," Jamie cracked.

"She got married last month," I told them. She had invited me but I was in the middle of the tour. We talked about once a year and everything was always nice. The only time I would've had the chance of running into her was when Alex and I visited Sheffield and that obviously wasn't happening anymore.

"Bless that man's heart," Matt quipped.

I shook my head. "No, she seems to have settled down in the last few years. I guess we all did. Seems so long ago."

"It was," Alex said. "We're getting old, Janie." His silence punctured the air. My lungs felt like they were deflating. He poured himself another glass.

Things grew looser and looser. They rattled off stories of LA, I rattled off stories from the road. Arielle excused herself to bed, citing an early morning. Her bed was upstairs.

Each couple left one by one until Alex and I awkwardly remained. I figured then I should leave. He walked me to the door with a freshly poured glass in his hand. "Hope I didn't keep you up too late," I said because I wasn't sure what else to say. It reminded me of what my parents said to each other after a fight. It was the one thing they clung to in order to keep their marriage somehow working.

He shook his head and sipped. "No, no. It's fine. You're always good company."

I shrugged. The whole thing kind of felt awkward, at least with him. I could laugh with Matt and throw my arm around Katie, even hug Arielle good night, but whenever my eyes landed on Alex, I tensed up so tightly I knew I'd be sore the next day. "If you're ever in New York or whatever."

He nodded and smiled. He would be visiting his old apartment. I wondered how that would make him feel. Was it the same when I walked into his house and noticed different shoes by the door than mine? Would the emptiness of his presence leave him uneasy? "I'd like that," Alex said.

"Thanks for having me." We reached the door and the end of the night but we stayed awkwardly staring at each other.

"Course. Text me when you're back at the hotel and safe and all that." He was drunk, rambling with an incapability of holding his tongue.

I smiled. "I will."

I didn't know whether to hug him or not. He leaned forward and kissed me. It wasn't affectionate. It was a peck. The kind my mother used to give me when left for school in the morning. Of course, she was my mother and I was 7 and Alex was drunk and I was, well, awkward.

I said, "Night," and turned away. We never talked about it because there was nothing to talk about. It very well could have been a kiss on the cheek just like I gave Katie and Breana before they left. Of course, that was Katie and Breana and this was Alex—no longer mine.

Rain pattered against the window. Jackson and I returned to New York a week prior and we were now sitting in my apartment, drinking, and about to call Opal to join us. I felt dizzy and Jackson looked sleepy. It had been a long month.

"So," he said, "what's next?"

I finished off my glass. "What do you mean?" The year felt empty as the cold was beginning to creep into my summer warmth. 2012 was a bumpy year where so much yet so little happened. I was growing sick of my apartment because no matter how rid it was of Alex, he still had a whole life with me here. When I returned to it after the book tour, I was ready to move on.

Jackson placed his arm on the back of the couch. The tips of his fingers softly poked at my shoulder. "Now it's time to think about the next book."

I tossed my head back with a groan. "Gimme a break."

He chuckled and placed his empty glass on the end table. "No rush. For now."

I sat up straight, finishing off my glass, and growing more and more serious every day. "Thanks for doing this for me, Jackson."

He nodded. "My pleasure."

"I feel kind of empty," I confessed.

His brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

I didn't feel like explaining it. I was growing tired of doing that with people. My stomach ached and I pushed Alex out of my mind. I felt that I had sacrificed our relationship for this success, even if it wasn't true. I thought I would have been over it by that time of year. It had been over a year. But it still felt so unnatural for him to feel so far removed from my life. Every word we spoke felt tinged with sadness and I didn't want it to feel that way. I wanted to move on.

I kissed Jackson. He kissed back. We never called Opal.

Jackson and I started dating in a casual way. We were exclusive to one another and treated each other as a boyfriend and girlfriend would but I suppose my association with dating was always a far deeper connection. I wasn't alone in this. Jackson had long-term girlfriends prior to me. He was older than me, not by some outrageous amount. He was born in 1979, seven years older, but I was 26 and 33 didn't feel so far off.

Opal loved it. She felt like the ultimate matchmaker and wanted to be both the maid of honor and the best man. My New York crew loved him. Fennel and Kaka found him to be rich in conversation. He liked going out more than Alex but then again most people liked going out more than Alex. Except more and more it seemed Alex enjoyed the going out part. (I was taken but I was still a snooping ex-girlfriend).

I didn't tell Alex. It felt awkward to call him up and tell him I got a new boyfriend. I decided to tell him when I saw him again, which didn't come up. He was in Los Angeles. I was in New York. We didn't talk very often either. I think I called him once in October because I couldn't remember the name of a restaurant we went to (he didn't remember either).

Other than that, there wasn't much reason to talk. We had completely separate lives. But I was aware of what he was up to. I wasn't cyber-stalking him much anymore (only on nights when I was wildly intoxicated). I talked to Katie occasionally and texted Breana from time to time. Things about Alex would slip through the cracks and get to me but the majority of it was just that they were recording their new album.

We had both moved on. Or we were both pretending we did. At least I was pretending, in some form. I thought about him all the time. I didn't feel like a day went by when I didn't think about him. It wasn't in some romantic longing way. I had shared a life with him from such a young age and to be forced apart from it felt unnatural. There were so many jokes and stories that went untold because no one would get it but him.

When I went back home for the holidays, I confided this to my mother. I don't know why, maybe because of what she had told me so many years ago in Florida. I don't know if my mother ever actually liked Alex so I figured if she said awful things about him it would make me feel better. Of course, she didn't.

"It goes away," she said. "One day, you wake up and you're numb to it. You just get numb to it in the end, Jane. All those people you hated and loved turn to nothing. Even the ones you still want to love. You'll be thankful for it when the day comes that you don't feel anything anymore."

I frowned and my mother left me on the couch to fetch another bottle of wine. In retrospect, my mother was suffering from mental illness, but I was oblivious to that because I had grown oblivious to most of my mother's behavior. I just didn't want to engage with it anymore. Maybe part of me was numb toward her.

I didn't want to feel nothing. I couldn't imagine not feeling anything for Alex, even if we remained friends for the rest of our lives. I had tethered so much sentimentality toward him, he might as well have been a knick-knack on my shelf. Letting go of him would be letting go of an entire part of myself. I was content if that part only came out once a year when I saw him but I couldn't let go of it forever.

Joanie was having a baby. She likely got pregnant on her honeymoon. Someone my age having a child felt unnatural. I pictured Joanie being a teen mum, not a 26-year-old pregnant woman. She invited me to the baby shower taking place right after Christmas. It was ideal timing since all her closest friends would be in town or, like me, the country.

I debated going but decided that since I missed the wedding the least I could do was go to the baby shower. So, I drove the Beetle up to Wakefield. I figured it would be a mini-reunion. The only one I had seen as of late was Claire, who lived in Bristol now, and I hadn't seen since last winter.

We drove up together and listened to Radio 2 on full blast the whole way. I don't think I had ever felt more like a teenager even when I was a teenager. Claire continued her streak of always being a comfort for me. While other friends might be wedding and birthing, Claire had just ended her two-year-long relationship and gagged in her mouth at the thought of being a mother one day.

It made me miss England so desperately. I forgot how much I ached to drive, which I hadn't done in years. The closest I had gotten to a car was the one taxi ride home drunk at 4 AM. And to drive on the left side of the road! I hadn't heard someone speak in a British accent since the dinner at Alex's. It eased my ears and made me wonder why I ever left, which just led to me thinking about Alex again.

Claire said, "I hate Alex, which sucks 'cause I like Alex." In a way, it summed up how conflicted I felt. Hate is a strong word but I was resentful for how everything went down. Then again, I probably didn't have much of a right.

Joanie's house was straight out of a picture book. I didn't know houses like that even existed in Wakefield. It wasn't fancy but at the sight of it, you'd call it a home. She had a little garden in the front that she said her husband grew herbs in that she used for cooking. It made Claire and I roll our eyes but we both desperately wanted that kind of companionship. If I ever would learn how to cook or grow plants, maybe that could be my life. I refused to do either, but it was a nice thought.

I bought Joanie—or Joanie's baby—these cozy fleece booties because that's what New York Magazine said to get. I never bought anything for a baby before (I got away with it two years ago during Harper's unmentioned pregnancy of my first nephew, Benjamin, by having my mother buy a gift for me) so I had no clue what to get. I bought Joanie this nice set of body washes that were her favourite when we were 17 with the hope that they either still were or she would feel nostalgic over them.

Claire and I ate a slice of cake and watched Joanie open her presents. Halfway through we turned to each other and decided we were going to go out drinking after. I love Joanie but oohing and awing over baby gifts with a bunch of women I barely knew got old quickly, especially incredibly sober and in the middle of the winter blues. The cake was good though.

The shower ended around 4 and while I was down to get hammered that early, Claire wanted to go out to lunch first. We ended up meeting up with AB at a pub. I hadn't seen AB since 2006 and I nearly cried at the sight of him all grown up. Claire and AB had broken up long ago but stayed in touch as good friends and if they could do it—two incredibly mature people—maybe Alex and I could too.

AB's girlfriend of two years (and future wife), Shay, joined us as well. It almost made me barf how gorgeous they were together and I was shocked Claire wasn't fuming more over how beautiful Shay was. I was almost fuming over how beautiful Shay was!

AB sipped on a beer, which I don't think I had ever witnessed. He shared it was Shay and I swallowed down my drink at the painful thought that Alex and I once did things like that. I was such a sad sack. I thought about calling Jackson. Thank god I didn't.

We left the pub, hugging AB and Shay goodbye next to the Beetle. Claire and I were going to go back to the hotel to change out of our baby shower clothes and "hit the town.”

We waved goodbye to the couple and that's when I saw Alex with his mum. I turned my back to him and grabbed Claire's arm. "I think I'm gonna vomit."

She looked at me completely puzzled. "What? Why?"

I was so freaked out by the sight of him. I think the unexpected nature of it threw me off-balanced. I had never been that unnerved by the sight of him. My head felt like my brain was about to burst out of my ears. "Get in the car," I harshly muttered to her.

She was still unaware but she raced around the side of the car to get into the passenger seat. We bolted out of there before he crossed the street.

It was midnight when I called him. I was definitely drunk, but not wasted, standing outside a club smoking while Claire chatted up with some guy inside. I was freezing and felt so childish for doing it, even in the moment, but I wanted to see him. It shouldn't feel right that I was here and he wasn't.

"Hello." His voice was clear so he hadn't been sleeping. I wonder if he was in bed (with Arielle).

I swallowed whatever dignity I had left and let the rest loose. "Hey. I'm in Wakefield for Joanie's baby shower 'cause apparently we're old enough to have children now and now I'm out with Claire at a club. We drove up together from Bath, well, Bristol for her, Bath for me, but you know that. Jesus. I saw you earlier today and raced into my car because I was so scared by the sight of you, which made me realize I'm not as mature as I thought I was. And it was just after we went to lunch with AB and Shay and Claire and AB still get along like they didn't have this romantic relationship and I know that we get along too but I raced to my car and nearly shit myself. Now, I'm outside a club smoking in the middle of winter because I apparently regress back to teenage tendencies when I'm in Yorkshire or maybe just England in general. Anyway, I'm drunk and I'm thinking this was stupid and it probably is but I know you're probably laughing at me right now but I'm freezing my ass off and I can't figure out how to get back inside the club and Claire isn't answering her phone, which means she's probably shagging someone or something and I wouldn't want to interrupt that, you know, and I probably should just get a cab back to the hotel but I called you for some reason. Well, not for some reason because I'm drunk. Okay, now you talk."

I was out of breath and sure I had just lost my mind. I need another shot of tequila. I felt I was growing too sober to face the repercussions of this. I took a drag of my cigarette and listened to his breathing on the other end of the line.

I could hear his smile. I still had a knack for that kind of thing. "I saw you too, you know."

I slapped my forehead and thought about slamming my head into the brick wall until it broke my skull and my brain gushed out. "Did it look like we were being held at gunpoint?"

He chuckled lowly. "A little. But I must've looked like someone pointed a gun at me. I'd recognize that car anywhere, Janie."

I didn't know what to say. My car was such a sensitive topic for both of us. It was the cornerstone (ha) of our relationship, especially for the car to be returned to its rightful county. I thought I'd feel weird driving it but everything felt right like it was a complete homecoming. Like nature had found its way and every piece fell perfectly into the puzzle.

"I thought I would be grown up by now," I confessed.

He suppressed a laugh. "I like you this way. Makes me feel less alone."

"How so?"

He waited, not wanting to fully let the truth go but it was me he was talking to. There wasn't much point in lying. "I've called you in various states of intoxication too."

"Not after running to your car," I pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure I'll do it one of these days." It was a silence but a vibration rang across the line to one another. Call it a vibe or a wavelength or just a feeling, but I could feel him like he was standing right next to me. "Where are you?"

It was so embarrassing I laughed. "Che & Coco." It was Barnsley College's resident bar and nightclub. The average age of the crowd was barely 20 and I felt like such a loser trying to claim that nostalgia is what made me want to club there.

"Geez, you really are down bad." His laughter rang through the phone and I nearly hung up due to how beet red my face was. He laughed and laughed. I could picture him with his hands on his knees, walking home from Will's house, unable to breathe he was laughing so hard. Then, I couldn't breathe. "You want me to pick you up?"

I'd like that a lot but I couldn't take it. That was a bridge too far. "No, no. I'll just call a taxi or something. Maybe even walk. My hotel isn't that far."

"You're gonna walk in Barnsley at midnight? Hope you don't get hit with a beer bottle," he joked. That had happened to Will back in the day. I'm convinced it made him even dumber if that's possible.

"I've walked later than this in New York," I reasoned.

"Janie," he stopped me, "I'd like to see you if you won't run away from me."

I sighed. "I'll see you in 20. I'll be waiting on Peel." Because maybe I would like to see him too.

He pulled up in his mum's car. It wasn't her car from way back in the day but it made him feel sophomoric to me. His hair wasn't gelled up, instead falling around in tendrils of combed-back magic. He had a hoodie on and a smile on his face. He honked the horn of the car and I dashed across the street to his car.

The car was warm, at least warmer than outside where I had been suffering. I tugged my coat closer and put my seatbelt on. "Hi."

Alex smiled over at me. "Hi." He pulled back onto the road and I couldn't remember the last time he had driven me. "How've you been?"

I shrugged in his peripheral vision. "Fine. Christmas was fine. My dad bought me Slouching Toward Bethlehem."

Alex laughed. "About 10 years too late."

"Yeah, but at least he's trying. I can't remember the last time he bought me a gift." My mother handled all the presents, something she was rather good at, even if it always felt like she didn't know me.

We stopped at a red light. "I didn't get anything for you," he said while looking over at me.

"Well, I didn't get you anything either." First time in eight years. It didn't even cross my mind. "This is enough of a present anyway."

He nodded in agreement. "Good." I believed him. The nod of his head told me that this meant as much to me as it did to me. Drunk actions are sober thoughts and sometimes I just wanted to hear his voice.

We kept driving. I had yet to tell him any directions. He was headed the right way but I wouldn't have had the willpower to tell him anyway. I liked driving around with him. I liked just this. The vibration of the road beneath us and the scent of him washing over me. The slowness of Yorkshire and the heat of him beside me. It made everything feel right.

"Arielle come with you?"

He rubbed his eye. He looked tired. "Nah. She went to her parents’." I nodded and he waited, looking over at me. I stared at him blankly. He looked back at the road and kept the car moving. "What about, uh, Jackson?"

My head snapped toward him. "He's at his parents’." I picked at my nails. I didn't want to talk about this. Why did it feel like I was cheating on him? It felt like Alex had died and I was some widower trying to move on but his ghost was coming back to shame me.

"Katie mentioned something," he muttered.

"Yeah," I explained, "just a few months."

He nodded slowly. "He's a nice guy." I laughed out loud. He laughed too, for some reason. "What?"

I shook my head. "We don't have to talk about my boyfriend."

"Okay. We don't have to talk about Arielle." It was probably some form of cheating, emotionally. We gazed at one another and never acted on anything, but the aftertaste of it didn't feel right. But in the moment, everything had fallen perfectly into place.

We went nowhere and neither of us said a single thing about it. The drive from the club to my hotel was ten minutes. We drove around for an hour.

"Joanie's house is beautiful. It's like my dream house. It isn't big but it's not a cottage or anything. But it's quaint. She's got plants and I never thought Joanie could take care of a living thing and now she's gonna have a baby," I told him. I fiddled with the radio, even though we weren't gonna listen to it.

"Are you sure they aren't fake?" He joked. I chuckled and hit his shoulder. "Eh! Watch it. I'm driving here, missy."

I held my hands up as a defense. I eased them back down with a giggle and tugged on my seatbelt strap. "You know, I thought I'd have a baby by now."

He snorted. "No, you did not."

"At one point I did. I mean, back before you. Like when I was still playing with dolls."

He laughed again and everything made sense. "Good thing you don't. You can't even keep a plant alive."

"They're not self-sufficient enough."

"And you think a baby will be easier?"

"Not anymore but at six I did! It was right around when Stacey was born. I took good care of her."

Alex felt warm with a smile. "You did." He was an only child but at times I felt he might consider her a sister too. She considered him a brother. He had been around since she was 11. She was only a little over a year away from graduating university.

"Granted I didn't have to breastfeed her."

It was still dark outside but it felt like the sun was rising in that car. "You wouldn't be happy living Joanie's life."

"How do you know?" I questioned. "Maybe if I was settled I'd feel better."

Alex's jaw gaped. He breathed a laugh and I looked over at him curiously. "Jane, you'd be losing your mind. The whole time I knew you here, you were begging to get out of here."

"Maybe I had it all wrong."

He shook his head, never looking over at me, just driving. "You're a completely different person because you got out of here. You're gonna get all that stuff one day. The kid, the garden, whatever the fuck you want, but you'd never have what you have no if you stayed put. You always knew what you wanted. Your gut is always right. I've learned that."

I sighed and accepted he was right. "Grass is always greener, I guess."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But I think you have the greenest grass. You're the one who's a bestseller."

I rolled my eyes and leaned on the center console. "She's the one with the husband and baby."

He scoffed, "So is half the world. You have a tough time being proud of your accomplishments."

I gasped. "Look who's talking. My god!"

Alex chuckled and it felt like food for my soul. Fertilizer to my soil to keep growing. "Fair enough. But be cocky every once and a while, Janie. You deserve it."

I took what he said to heart but ignored him. I wanted to talk about something else. I wanted to put my feet in his lap and ride to Charlton Brook. Instead, I leaned back and looked at him. "We used to talk about the future so much and now it's come and gone."

"You're not dead yet." But we were. I think that's what I really meant. All those things I had planned with him and I had to be content with letting them go. Watching those promises slip through my fingers. I had no right to feel that way but it's all I felt.

I wanted to tell him I loved him with the windows rolled down and the cold air rushing in because he used to let me do that. I believe that right had been revoked. "I missed it here." The truth was hidden in those words, in between the lines, deep in those letters, stuffed in between them.

He hummed, glancing over. "Me too. Everything feels a little simpler."

I heard the radio speaking, ringing some familiar tune that I couldn't think of the name. Maybe if it had been a little simpler and Alex and I stayed there forever, in the car ride between Wakefield and High Green, we'd have a house, a garden, a ring, a little thing on the way.

But I would've missed out on a lot more. I would have missed out on a lot of Alex. How he was with his hair long in the middle of Joshua Tree, looking over at me instead of the night sky. How he made up our bed in our London studio apartment into a couch because we didn't have enough space for one. How he felt sitting next to me on the C train at 2 AM. How he felt in the dead of winter in Yorkshire, somehow ending up at my hotel with a hoodie I used to wear and a smile he still wears just for me.

I'll never know otherwise. And that's fine.

a/n: this was a struggle but i think it landed right in the end. much, much more to come.

#alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #junedenim #beneath the boardwalk

26 notes · View notes

angelwxnny · 3 days ago

Text

⋆˚ 𝜗 it is the end, the end. 𝜚˚⋆

" I am tired of always trying to convince myself that I have this because I factually do not !! "

" why is the 3D never conforming to my desires ?? I listen to subliminals a lot, it's not even fair. "

" no, I'm not happy. I AM (negative state of being) because I (negative assumption affirmation) since (these circumstances) proved by (3D things) "

girl, you gotta relax.

>> living in the end is the biggest factor to manifestation; manifestation should literally just be explained through bullet points because it is too simple. the reason why you or have to prioritize this is not just so that you can recode your whole thought process and belief system to feel better, but also so that you can recode your behavioral patterns to influence yourself to live better.

>> cuz what if you woke up one day and had your ultimate dream appearance?? and when you rub your eyes open, what if you were just suddenly in your dream bedroom in your dream house that you wouldn't be able to afford unless you had your dream career and bank account?? and if you had that financial freedom, that means you may have your dream closet, self-care products and the makeup you've always been eyeing on. how would you live life??

live in the end.

>> of course, you would hop out of bed, run to the bathroom to hygienically pamper yourself before running to your closet to stylishly pamper yourself some more, then you'd run to your desired vanity mirror and stare at your beauty and affirm "omg I have my dream appearance, I look so beautiful I am so blah blah blah" while using your dream makeup set and using heatless curls for the first time.

>> then you'd run downstairs, walk to your dream school or workplace and awe at the beauty of your dream city in your dream country then get surprised and overjoyed that people are now complimenting on your hair, clothes, overall appearance AND personality. and then surprise, your SP kisses you on the cheek and after that, a big and hyper group of girls laugh contagiously and then suddenly call you their best friend. oh my gosh !! you have your dream friend group !!

>> just observe what it would be like to experience that. you would notice that you feel utmost grateful and happy for everything, even the simplest things in life because YOU get to have it. nobody cares about that random tree in the middle of the grass field located somewhere in belgium, but YOU do because YOU manifested being in your dream country. if an unfortunate child who would worry where she'll sleep every night and the food she won't have for the next morning shifted in your ordinary life, she'd feel euphoria. right?

>> other than powerful freaking gratitude, you won't worry about everything. you won't complain about anything. literally, one person could say something bad about you then your whole day is ruined. If you had a 10,000 dollars and a person stole 5 bucks from you, will you throw away your remaining 9,995 ? no. who cares if you tripped over a banana peel in front of 20 people passing by; you are in france for goodness sake.

>> now, 3D is showing you in your current house in your current environment. but so what?? wake up and run to the daylight before going on tiktok. read a book instead of going chronically online first thing in the morning. you don't have your dream closet, so what? craft your own, and convincingly ask your dad for a trip to the mall because in 4D, you are used to being the youngest daughter of a rich father and an easy-going mother. also, socialize. idiot.

>> it's not delulu. I have constant daily compliment bombs because I positioned myself to my manifestations. I aligned with my self-concept and amplified the feeling of enjoyment in socializing people, because I am genuinely an extrovert and a big big big empath. so, I'm out here with multiple friend groups that boost my confidence only and treat me righttt.

#pure consciousness #this is what makes us girls #girlhood #loassumption #reality shifting #loa blog #desired reality #girlblogging #success story #quantum jumping #personal #pretty privilege #law of assumption #law of attraction #law of manifestation

23 notes · View notes

chaotictempleknight · 2 days ago

Text

Some advice for writers

I would like to offer some advice to my fellow writers. Caution: this post is a bit on the longer side.

If you have any type of series on the internet, please have a master post for that series, or at least some form of organization. No, I am not going to go endlessly scrolling through your blog or website to find the first chapter/page.

Please have links to chapters if you are writing a digital novel/novella. It makes it easier for the reader to get through the story. This is assuming you're not using a website dedicated to literature.

Tag your work with what genre it is. I see a lot of stories and chapters on the internet that don't do that or only tag one genre. I would like to know what genre your story is as I have preferences for what I read.

When writing a synopsis or a pitch, please establish the stakes. Tell me what the conflict is and why I should read. What are the consequences if the protagonist fails? Also don't describe what your story is. I'll find that out as I read.

Plan your story out before you write it. You are not that 1 in a million who's going to be able to write a story as you go along. PLAN OUT YOUR STORY BEFORE YOU START IT. Here's my advice: Establish your plot and ending, write the plot, write your characters, then write an outline for the story. Make sure you're happy with it, iron out any last minute details, then write a rough draft.

Have multiple drafts and don't post the first thing that comes out of your head. Don't worry if you mess up during the rough drafts, you can fix it later. How many drafts you have is up to you, just don't get carried away with them as you'll never finish the story.

The protagonist must succeed. It doesn't matter what they succeed in, they must succeed in something. There's no two ways about it. The protagonist can be anyone, be it a hero or villain. protagonist versus antagonist is not good versus evil, it's a clash of egos and ideals. It doesn't matter who they come from.

Write an evil villain and a strong hero. Let your villain be evil and let your hero be heroic. This is storytelling 101, but so many stories these days try to make everyone morally gray and indistinguishable from each other. You can have sympathetic villains and questionable heroes, just make it clear where the lines between good and evil are drawn.

Stop trying to be relatable and POST SOMETHING. I don't care about how many WIPs you haven't finished or about how your cat keeps interrupting you. Post your story. If you're more concerned about being relatable than actually writing, you're not a writer.

If you're expecting overnight success, you are in for a very rude awakening. No, you will not have overnight success. AND NO, you are not that 1 in a million. It takes time, effort, and dedication for your work to get noticed. I should know: have you heard of ULTRAMagic Alternate? I didn't think so.

If you are writing to make money and become famous, get out. I'm serious, leave. If you just want to make money, go get a regular job. You are legitimately getting in the way of actual writers who actually have a story to tell.

Having beta readers is ideal for improving your story. Find people interested in the genres you're writing and see what they think. You can always go back and fix the story if there is something wrong with it.

This one is for readers: If an author asks you to be a beta reader, they are NOT asking you to edit their story (although you can if you want to). You don't have to be an author, the writer is looking for your perspective as an average Joe off the street. Tell them what you think of the work, even if you have no knowledge of writing.

DO NOT USE AI IMAGES. The instant I see an AI image attached to your post I'm immediately scrolling past it. Either learn how to draw or hire a real artist.

DO NOT USE AI WRITING. I will ignore your entire existence if I catch you copy and pasting stuff from an AI chat bot. I'm okay with asking a chat bot for assistance as long as what is written on the page came from your head and human hands, however. Also newsflash, if AI becomes truly sentient, you are stealing ideas and work from another individual. Let that sink in.

#chaotictempleknight #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writer #writers #writers of tumblr #writing advice #advice #my advice #advice for writers #writing community #literature #bookblr #writing tips #tips #writing help

25 notes · View notes

abbysimsfun · 3 days ago

Text

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 111 (Making Progress on the Case?)

Conrad gave Malcolm's video to a tech at work the next day, and while they worked he updated the police chief. "I'm sure it's him. When the video comes back, we'll know."

"The precinct still won't send you to George Brindleton's villa in Sulani until the video can be analyzed, Gordon. I know how badly you want to get there, but you can't take any more of this investigation off grid. You've got a lot of nerve getting Judge Morrison to rush a warrant on a Landgraab. I don't care how well you think you know him."

"I'm sorry, Chief. I've been getting a little desperate to solve this one, and because he's a Landgraab, I knew you'd tell me to hold off if I asked for permission first."

The chief rolled her eyes. "One of these days your instincts might fail you, Lieutenant, and all that risk you take won't have reward."

Two officers entered the room after a knock at the door. "Lieutenant Gordon, we brought in someone you're going to want to talk to. She says she's an ex-girlfriend of Rafael Bonilla."

Immediately, Conrad knew who he meant. Melissa Ramsay. He'd found old social media posts from a deleted account with their photos. He found her in the police database, subject to an outstanding warrant after a bust Rafa had also been involved in when they were sixteen, and had put out an APB on her almost a year ago.

He entered the interrogation room, and she looked at him nervously in her orange jumpsuit. "I wasn't trying to avoid arrest. I thought it was all over, I swear. I was only there that night because I loved him. I didn't do anything."

Conrad could relate to her predicament. "I'm not trying to reopen an old case against you, Miss Ramsay. Your record after the bust is clean. But it's rare for someone who becomes their high school valedictorian not to continue to university. You've been harder to track down than most who have nothing to hide."

"I don't know what you want from me. I work in a flower shop. I can give you the name and number for my boss."

Conrad nodded, letting her write down the information. "When's the last time you spoke to Rafa Bonilla?"

"I don't remember."

"A few months ago. That's the last time I spoke with his sister, Ximena. And you might not know this about me, but over a decade ago, I loved her like you say you loved Rafa. So you don't forget."

"Maybe I didn't love him enough."

"You loved him enough to be there that night."

Melissa frowned. "We finally broke up three years ago and I haven't seen him since."

"Do you have any idea where he might be, or who he might be with?"

"I don't know. After the bust we didn't talk about his work, but it was always the problem between us until I finally left."

Again, Melissa's story rang true to Conrad's experience. "Did you know he's wanted by San Myshuno PD?"

She nodded. "I had nothing to do with those busts, either."

"I know that, Miss Ramsay. Do you think Rafa's on the run?"

"Maybe he finally got away from his sister. He knew she was dragging him down, but he didn't know what else to do with his life so he did whatever she asked. They had this loyalty that he couldn't shake. I begged him and I tried to deal with it for years, but finally I had to accept that she won and I walked away from him."

"If he ran, where would he go?"

"I really don't know, Lieutenant. He didn't talk about what he wanted to do because he thought the cartel was his only viable option."

"Has Ximena tried to find you since Rafa went missing?"

She shook her head. "She hated me so much, I don't think she's spared a single thought for me since Rafa and I broke up. She never wanted me around to begin with."

Conrad gave her his card and let her go, asking her to call if either Bonilla happened to reach out after so long. He hadn't learned enough from Melissa to justify a work trip to Sulani to find Rafa, but if Melissa was telling the truth, he'd been given valuable insight into Rafa's mind.

Ximena thought Rafa was happy to work at her side, running drugs and weapons for the cartel. But maybe the reason Ximena had been no real help in the search for Rafa was that she truly had no idea where he was. Maybe he'd been in hiding for years - from his warrants as well as his vicious sister.

He was beginning to get excited - the end of this very long tunnel might finally be in sight, but his run of luck couldn't last forever.

Frowning, the young officer who worked on his video approached him toward the end of the day. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant Gordon, but the facial recognition software couldn't pick up enough of the man's face in the video recording to confirm a match with Rafael Bonilla."

Conrad sighed. Though it felt he'd taken two steps forward and two steps back, forced to keep looking for evidence connecting Rafa to Sulani and the Brindletons, he still felt as though he was on the right track.

He returned home to his family that night, finding Ash and Lavender in the kitchen with a book.

"Give Twee, Dada! Pease?"

Lavender crossed her hands on her lap and smiled, melting any possible opposition. Not that he ever turned down a chance to read the kids a good story.

Heather gave Gord a bath while Conrad read, getting the kids ready for bed before a freshly-shampooed Gord bounded up the stairs to say good night.

"Nigh-nigh Go-dee," she said, patting his head gently as he leaned in for a nuzzle. "Go-dee wet!" She laughed wildly and wrapped her arms around him. "Lovey!"

Conrad's gorgeous family was a constant reminder why it was so important he find the Bonillas and move forward with his picture-perfect life. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

#sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 legacy #sims in bloom #ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 story #ts4 story #legacy challenge #sims legacy #ts4 legacy challenge #gen 2 #brindleton bay

36 notes · View notes

triscishistrionic · 10 hours ago

Note

HI SINCE U ARE THE HPD HAVER OF TUMBLR DO U HAVE ANY TRANSHPD TIPS????!!1????!1!??1!1?1!!!?

YES I FUCKING DO!!! /LH NBR POS

I meant to make a master post abt this but, HAVE SOME RN!!!!!!!1!1!1!

TIP 1: Make everything a bigger deal than it needs to be!

Even if something doesnt really interest you a lot, pretend like it does.

If someone says something kind of dry or vague, make it seem interesting!! Use all caps, or if you're irl, talk fast and loud! Say a lot about something that there isnt a lot to say about.

For example, someone says, "I'm hungry." You might sayy, "O MY GOSH, when's the last time you've ate?? We NEED to get you something to eat, what's your favorite food? OOOOO, you know what, mine is actually Graham crackers and I have some on me RNRN, do you want some?? You know you can ask for food from me ANYTIME, riiiight? You're my bestest friend, I'd do ANYTHING for you if you asked really."

If you're irl, MAKE SURE TO GIVE THEM TIME TO ANSWER U BACK IN BETWEEN!! They might be put off if they dont get to talk as well, which is bad!! The goal is to be entertaining enough to keep them around as long as possible, or as long as they're attention is worthy.

TIP 2: Fake your interests and morals to match everyone elses!

Sometimes, you'll find that your opinions or interests are different than everyone else's. This is generally not good, because it can cause conflict with other people, or they might find you angering or unrelatable. Not good for attention seeking!

What you want to do instead is fit in with everyone else's beliefs while still making a statement of your own.

For example, if you find yourself in a group of people who love the musical Hamilton, but you hate Hamilton, you should try to push that aside and fake your love for it! You not only want to be agreeable, but you also want to stand out. For example:

Person A: "Oh my god guys, I watched Hamilton again last night and it was SOOO good."

Person B: "OH MY GOSH yes, it's literally my favotieee musical"

Person C: "oh yeah, me too!"

You: "OH MY GOD GUYS, you have NOOOO idea, I would literally die to go see Hamilton again. I've seen the musical like, 20 times already and it's so GOOD it's LITERALLY like my baby."

Person A: "ITS MY FAVORITE TOO IVE LITERALLY SEEN IT PROBABLY 25 TIMES NOW"

You: "WELL, MY AUNT LITERALLY PLAYS AS ONE OF THE BACKGROUND CHARACTERS IN IT, LIKE IN THE OFFICIAL SHOW THEY DO. SHE HAD LIKE 50,000 PEOPLE WATCHING IT WAS CRAZY, SHE TOLD ME ONE OF THE MAIN CHARACTERS SHE WAS ACTING WITH LITERALLY TRIED TO HIT ON HER TOO DURING THE NIGHT OF THE SHOW."

You can see that person A is a formidable opponent here. Clearly they are a Hamilton lover and extroverted, and tried to one-up you there. But you need to be the BEST, the shining star! You are now the number one Hamilton fan and no one can prove themselves otherwise!

You might need to cut other people off before they start speaking if they're more boring, like person C. The convo will get much less exciting if they have more room to talk, and they're attention isnt as valuable as Person A's or Person B's.

Also, you dont need to know *anything* about the musical Hamilton to take the stage in this convo. Just say things that you could say about any musical ever!

I HOPE THESE HELPED, MWWWWAH!!! HAVE A LOVELY DAY ANON, AND HAPPY TRANSITIONING!!! ^w^

#♡ ASKS ��#transhpd #transid tips #transhistrionic #transhpd tips #radqueer safe #pro radqueer #radqueer community #radqueer #pro radq #radq safe #radq interact #radq please interact #rqc #rq community #rqc🌈🍓#rq 🌈🍓#rq safe #pro rq 🌈🍓

18 notes · View notes

shirogane-oushirou · 2 months ago

Text

no promises anymoooooreeeee i'll appear online when i appear online 😭 every time i say "ooh i think life is almost done being overwhelming!" it. becomes even more overwhelming in the dumbest ways. all i can manage rn when i'm not stressing myself into a shut-down state is staring at the wall while listening to youtube essays + mindlessly crocheting.

i might queue up ppls art and fics w/o commentary in the tags... i want other ppl to see what all of my cool friends have made, but i genuinely can't think right now with this monstrous brain fog. i'm really sorry, just. yeah. maybe i'll think of some way to make it up later!!! once the dust has settled!!!! but until then i wuv u and miss u. smiles.

[venting in tags including familial manipulation and ableism. i. didn't mean to write all of that, thiss was originally going to be a main blog post but. aaaaaAAAAAA!!!!!

also no need for replies or anything, i'd turn them off for just the one post if i could kjsndkn, i just needed to get things out and go eep jsjndsfdn ok bye bye bye bye!!!!]

#goddd my family finds it sooooooo funny that i can't do basic tasks! it's soooo funny that i can't even think of a horror movie to watch #on halloween bc i genuinely can't remember a single one right now. it's soooo funny that i can't take cardboard boxes or #old furniture out of my room without help bc i've physically and mentally and emotionally burnt out for Months.#and me not being able to move shit out after two (2) days makes me a hoarder somehow. and ofc hoarding is a moral failing #and my mom has to give me a stern talking-to about hoarding things... that were. again. in my room for 2 days....#[tbc it isnt a moral failing no matter the reason. life is hard and things happen and it can be hard to get rid of things for Reasons.]#nevermind them making constant snide remarks about me using ugly 'mismatched' desk / storage furniture. bc it was free / cheap? no income??#AND!!!!! i have a couple of new diagnoses. which doesn't change much day to day but it does make my family making fun of me #even more dumbfounding. like. this explains a lot of really scary unexplained symptoms that constantly leave me #housebound for weeks but uhhh haha hehe hoho??? so silly so funny that i'm barely conscious for multiple weeks???#and you can see that i'm getting worse but that makes it funnier??? hmm!!!#also nevermind that i've told them the exact reason why i've been like this (read: them) but that ALSO makes it funnier somehow.#but i also can't say shit bc they're doing something ~nice~ for me (out of convenience + after almost a decade of 'don't get comfortable'#and 'don't decorate this room bc it isn't yours' and 'you need to be ready to move out by x date'#only for the date to arrive and them to pull the 'i never said that. and if i did say it i didn't mean it like that.#and if i did mean it like that i don't anymore.' card. + any big renovations are things they wanted anyway. hmmmm!!#and how i have to do all of the phys labor alone bc if i ask for help i get made fun of!!! and yelled at that i'm doing things Wrong #(hint: i'm following instructions to the letter but. my family knows better than those silly things!! ^^ ))#jfc i sure did rant. uh. yeah. things. are really weird and uncomfy and i feel thankful that i finally can have my own things on display #outside of closets and bins again after a decade?? but i'm also waiting for the other shoe to drop / them to tell me i owe them in #some way??? bc that's how it works. 'i'm doing a nice thing you didn't even ask me for so now you have to do whatever i tell you to.'#meanwhile i can't even maladaptive daydream my way through it bc my brain is soup right now. can't remember basic things abt #my interests bc i've been on negative battery / spoons for a couple of months straight and it's only getting worse.#OKAY TLDR i'm not in a state to do anything until everything irl gets settled. and i'm trying So Hard to get it all over with but there's #only so much i can do in a day before i completely shut down. i didn't even get into the insurance stuff i've been fighting too ughhhh.#so if i show up on here in short spurts -- hi! bye! hi!! i wuv and care u!!! hope youre well mwah mwah!!!!!!! i'll post what i can and then #disappear when i need to recharge. it is what it is. i need to try to sleep now... uh if this post disappears when i wake up.... yeah......#📌 [ my posts. ]#💭 [ my thoughts. ]#vent -

7 notes · View notes

mantisgodsdomain · 6 months ago

Text

We ought to write more Pokemon fic some time. We want to recreate the Pokemon Manners/Human Manners cheat sheet that we made a few years ago we think that this site would like the Sliding Scale Of Politeness When Greeting A New Pokemon You've Never Met Before.

#we speak #writing #we grew up with pmd games and we feel like the way that pmd pokemon's dialogue tends to be excessively... direct?#should be a feature and not a bug when any pokemon that you meet might be totally unfamiliar with your species and biology #it's probably very polite to start up front with some basic facts about yourself so they know how to act going forward #the very upfront feel to dialogue also very much helps with keeping the dialogue feel more... pokemon #people mock the series for weird npc dialogue a lot but we think that taking these things literally makes for more fun society building #it doesn't all have to fit with socially acceptable for our world we think. polite in our world isn't even consistent by household.#sometimes a polite interaction sounds like “hello! i'm poochyena! i like to chase people and bite!”#name and immediately socially useful information. now you know about the chasing people and biting so you don't assume it's rude #of course poochyena bites and chases people. it likes to do that. you can say you don't like that and it might stop doing that to You #but it will not stop biting and chasing people because that's what it likes to do and it will probably only befriend people okay with that #it makes a very specific dialogue feel that's very fun to do. we like how the pokemon world tends to treat any sort of like #disability or “weird” things as something that you just say out the gate and everyones like “oh okay”#and then treat that as Part Of Interactions going forwards. there are a surprising amount of parts of the pokemon manga #that are dedicated to working around a character's disability after one or all of their means of dealing with it get taken out #admittedly we aren't that caught up on newer content but we find the way that it tends to be just Accepted as very refreshing #making the dialogue this direct does also tend to make it read as more “childish” in english and particular because a lot of Maturity's jus #learning how to dance around what you're saying or phrase it in different ways to get your idea across differently #whereas here everything is just as direct as possible. “i don't like charmander”. “i like roasting berries”. “i want to dig things up”.#all pokemon dialogue tends to go towards being exceedingly simple and it makes for some very distinct writing #especially when you have to tackle complex situations with characters who probably dont employ that sort of vocabulary #though we personally enjoy doing this sort of stuff your mileage may vary ofc #we are biased towards this sort of thins because we find it MUCH more fun to build up what we're talking about from blocks #than to like. try and use more indirect wording that may lose things in translation #unfortunately this is not fun in irl conversation. everyone has to be on the same page and you need to use the same playbook to communicate #we REALLY wish people said what they meant though. we're really tired of being asked shit like “is this accessible”#when what they mean is “can you climb these stairs” a question which depends on the day our energy level and how things have been going #there are a lot of things we could say that would make us feel like some sort of anti sjw type guy and a lot of em boil down to just #"for the love of god dont dance around a Sensitive Topic just get to the point and ask us about it this just makes things harder for everyo

12 notes · View notes

bonefall · 2 years ago

Note

Does Bramblestar die in your redux of the Broken Code? Or is he ousted? If not, what is your reasoning for having him to remain in power (beyond any wishes to stay semi-canon compliant)

The reasoning that Bramblestar isn't ousted after TBC is only because it technically wasn't him committing the acts of the Impostor... but he is on thin ice.

(context for newcomers: Bramblestar has been leader since the end of Po3 because Breezepelt killed Firestar. Girlboss moment)

After the events of Squirrelflight's Horror and the death of Leafpool as a result of his botched raid, not to mention his behavior at the end of Po3 where he disowned his adopted children, and caused controversy by publicly demoting (and mistreating) his very popular deputy and ex-mate, not to mention a second mate and a genius engineer leaving the Clan, Bramblestar is a very unpopular leader.

They didn't believe Bramblestar was possessed at the beginning of TBC. They just think he's throwing his weight around, the way always does.

They don't finally stand against him because Graystripe recognizes he's an imposter like in canon, either, they stand against him because he is doing bad things.

But... because it wasn't him, and because Squirrelflight saves him from the Dark Forest because she's the kind of person who would never leave a clanmate behind, he is still leader in the beginning of ASC.

I don't rewrite arcs until they're fully completed... but I do know that by the end of Bonefall TBC, ThunderClan is not happy with his leadership. VERY not happy.

#Bramblestar #Bonefall Rewrite #Bonefall TBC #I get a lot more asks these days than I used to so I'm trying to do--#'theme replies' to group the asks together somehow #So everyone's dashes aren't suddenly flooded with several different topics and there can be more of a “conversation” you get me?#I've got 3 Bonefall TBC asks here now and I'm gonna run through them #SO feel free to jump in y'all it's TBC time #Bramblefake #The Imposter

69 notes · View notes

legolasghosty · 2 years ago

Note

Ghost/Cryptid hunter au headcanons?

Oooo okay! I'm gonna go with ghost hunter cause I know basically nothing about cryptids.

Sunset Curve is fully a ghost hunting Youtube channel. Mostly spoof stuff of course, them goofing around and using special effects to make cool videos....

Until they accidentally end up involved in an actual ghost haunting. They were just checking out a creepy abandoned warehouse for an upcoming video and ended up running into SAA(Spirit Activity Agent) Molina.

Turns out that Julie works for a branch of the CIA that tracks the activity of various things that just don't want to stay dead. She works specifically with ghost and spirit cases.

At first she's just trying to get them out of there, but then the spirit she's trying to get to settle jumps out and possesses Alex for a second.

Apparently Alex is very easy to possess, so the spirit is actually able to communicate with Julie through his body.

Luke, Reggie, and Bobby are expecting them to start threatening each other, but it's actually a fairly civil conversation.

The spirit is upset about a big construction site near its grave. The workers keep going all the way through the night and it just makes so much noise, it's driving the spirit insane!

Julie promises to get in touch with them and make them keep the noise down at night as long as the spirit stops leaving creepy piles of bird feathers everywhere(no birds were harmed).

After the ghost leaves, Julie sighs and gives them her number so she can explain. No point in trying to hide it now, and the guys seem like the type to go looking for trouble.

Turns out that most of the spirits Julie handles have those sorts of complains: noise, people tearing down important structures, etc. Or they just want to deliver a message to someone who is still alive. This is usually more recently deceased folks. Julie travels all over the country figuring out ways to communicate with individual spirits and deal with the issues.

In short, a ghost hunter au where there isn't really a bunch of evil ghosts, just a bunch of normal people with problems that can't communicate them to the people causing them.

The guys are slightly disappointed by this, but they end up being contacts for Julie when she needs a bit of help on a case.

Reggie is great at calming ghosts down, Bobby can generally get the more aggressive ones to back off, Alex is weirdly easy to possess(he minds but kinda gets used to it. Eventually, he finds it interesting to see into the mind of someone else like that), and Luke is pretty good at telling when there's a ghost around. So Julie calls them in every now and then for a hand.

These were so fun and I had no idea where this was going either! Thanks for the ask!!! Sorry about how long this got...

(Send me an AU and I'll give you 5+ headcanons/thoughts about it!)

#legolas tag #legolas ask #legolas answers asks #okay so I maybe have a theory on why Alex is so easy to possess...#he's actually known ghosts were real for a while #cause he sorta met this skater ghost who hangs around his neighborhood a lot #Alex can't... see him exactly #but he can sorta tell when he's around #and it gets easier as they get to know each other #at first they're just communicating via the ghost leaving notes and stuff #but then the ghost hesitantly asked one day if he could try possessing Alex #cause then they could just communicate in thoughts #it freaks Alex out but he allows it #and thus begins the odd and beautiful lifer/ghost relationship of Willex #cause let's be honest #I'm incapable of doing not willex things #but alex has gotten used to being possessed by Willie #so he's just more open somehow than most people are

5 notes · View notes

beeseverywhen · 1 year ago

Text

I mean like. Not to bring the mood down but... you guys know that's because American media is everywhere right? Like the world is unable to avoid some version of American accent on a regular basis. Of course ppl find it easy to mimic. This is absolutely not restricted to ppl in the UK, its really common for ppl who learn English as a foreign language to have perfect 'American actor' accents (cause the reason everyone's so good at the American accent that's expected of them as actors is cause at large there's little distinction between regions in the 'Hollywood accent' that ends up on TV and films and stuff. You guys have massive regional differences in pronounceation, but what makes it on to TV (in 9/10 cases) is a very standardised version of American English.)

But yeah. It's not just actors lol. Most British ppl can speak in a passable american accent, as can loads and loads of people worldwide. I'm not saying this to be like 'you should feel guilty! 😡' but it does always stun me when Americans are unaware of the impact their country has worldwide on all versions of English (and even on use of native languages. Many countries are using English more and more over their native languages and dialects , and yeah, historical colonialism has had an impact there.)

But in the last few decades things have progressed way way faster and that, is thanks to the impact of anglo/american/ect lead capitalism. I'm in no way dismissing the impact the UK has on this, but in recent years, its the US that is largely pushing that train .While the UK and several English speaking commonwealth countries are very involved in this kind of capitalist imperialism, there's a reason that more and more people are speaking American English. Not one of the many UK dialects, not Australian English, or NZ English. Across the world more and more people are increasingly speaking in the same standardised american dialect that's in so much of the media you export. Hollywood based media, with that standardised accent/ dialect and the standardised 'normal american life', has a stranglehold on the world and I just find it crazy that a lot of you guys don't even know.

It's stupid stuff like. So many countries are importing american cars and are widening their roads/ changing town planning to account for it (this is less of a thing in the UK but I see it more and more when I travel). Its the food becoming avaliable everywhere. Its the influence that for profit healthcare has even on countries with socialised health systems. Its houses being built to account for American style appliances. Fashion trends. Worldwide, everything is slowly evolving to be closer and closer to this 'American standard' which honestly? I really don't think actually represents the lives of real American people either. You've been turned in to products, the system has taken an unrealistic snapshot of 'American life' and it's being sold to you all day in day out, but it's also being sold to the rest of us. It's being pushed on us all.

Kids in the UK go through phases of talking only in American accents. Anyone born later than the 90s is carrying round 2 sets of spelling and vocab, cause we're all so used to the American way, that you barely know which one you're using half of the time. In the UK we have always had really strong regional accents yeah, and dialects differ between areas that seem tiny to you guys, I know. But like. Those dialects are being lost cause all UK accents are evolving to become closer to this standardised american and yeah not great, but at least we share a language! US American society is largely rooted in the same foundations as UK society, largely we have the same flaws! But oh my god. What about the rest of the world.

It's global. This impact continues to be seen, steamrollering ahead, in places that had completely different starting points. UK culture isn't that dissimilar to that of the US, so we aren't losing nearly as much as cultures that had something completely different. So much is being lost.

Languages and dialects and everything else is just being wallpapered over so we all meet the same ideal of the 'American life' and it's not even real! It's just a product based on how ppl were actually living in the US, manipulated until it's the most marketable mould. You guys are victims of it as well but like. It's based on your culture so you don't lose as much if you conform to it. Just like how in the UK, if we conform, we lose more than US, but nowhere near as much as countries that had languages, dialects and cultures that were so so different to UK/US culture. The less like the US, your starting point, the more there is to lose.

And look. I said it to start with. I'm not having a go. That's not what this is. But you guys really need to be aware, you need to make an effort to understand the impact that this plastic Hollywood american culture is having on the rest of the world. You need to actively look for it, and make an effort to not pay in to it. Because when Americans see other cultures represented in media and say its not relatable, when you guys go on holiday and make no effort to learn local customs, and try and pay in dollars and spend your time abroad like you're still in America, when you see cultural differences and immediately argue that the American way is better and of course everyone should have giant cars and never dry laundry outdoors and live in American style homes, without any kind of critical thought. Just 'this is how we do it so why wouldn't everyone else do it this way. This is the only way. The American way is obviously best.' When you guys do that you are individually feeding in to this absolute bulldozing of cultures (including American ones!) to allow for better marketability.

It isn't any one individual American citizens fault that things are the way they are, and you guys are victims of the same system, but you need to have some self awareness when it comes to the fact that as individuals you are unknowingly, helping driving this forwards and as individuals, there are things you can do to limit your personal impact (and no arguing that you have no culture is not it!!! Being all self deprecating doesn't do shit. Take some responsibility and accept that individual Americans didn't create this system, but currently, individual Americans really are doing their bit to keep promoting it, to keep pushing it on the rest of the world.

And I've already rambled for an age so I'll stop here but I just want to make clear as an ending note here, that this really isn't about piling on Americans and being all 'boo it's all America's fault. They should apologise. Their culture isn't worth anything.' Not at all this is the opposite of that. The fact that millions of Americans have been convinced you have no culture, all while a mimicry of American culture is plastered on to the rest of the world, and while you as individuals are encouraged to help that happen, often without even realising what you're doing; is a crime. You've been wronged, as have we all.

And America is not the problem. The problem is imperialism and it didn't start with you guys. It started in Europe, and Europeans, particularly British ppl, have a responsibility to push back and be self aware, take some fucking responsibility and not inadvertently keep feeding in to that system, just as you guys do. The US didn't start the fire, imperialist capitalism is a fire that started burning long before the United States was even considered, but its on all of us, to do what we can to not feed that fire. And right now? You guys are the face of it.

This idea of what America is, is the face of imperialistic capitalism, and that means that even if you don't mean to, you guys are feeding that fire more so than the rest of us. You're responsible for spreading it, more so than the rest of us. And if you don't step up and take responsibility, accept that you're gonna get it wrong sometimes and you need to try to do better; if we don't all do that. There will be nothing left. They'll paper over it all, the lives of real Americans just as much as those in Scotland and India and the Netherlands, and 100 other cultures, that are at risk, thanks to this fire, that's currently, largely coming from America.

So yeah. It's absolutely not just on you guys and ppl who act like there's no racism or wealth divide in Europe or anywhere else for that matter are complete idiots, however, this Americanisation of the world (and I hesitate to call it that. Because its not a representation of real American lives. Its simply wearing an American face.) Its real. It's happening.

And we don't tell you about it to make you feel guilty (those of us who aren't dicks at least) ,we are telling you. We are kicking up a fuss. Because it isn't fair. It's not right and while individual Americans ignore that and refuse to take responsibility where they can (small apples. We aren't asking for you to call a violent revolution in our names. Just take some time to learn about the rest of the world. Stop assuming America is always right and examine your biases. When you find them. Stop personally pushing them.) , while that is happening, as individuals, you are contributing to this. It's not even altruism. This system is hurting Americans too. It's hurting us all. All we ask is that you do what you can to not personally contribute, and keep an open mind, be aware. That's all any of us can do.

when a british actor does an american accent everyone’s like “i didn’t even know they were british until they were on colbert.” but when americans do a british accent everyone’s like “they’re supposed to be from east cocksford but their glottal e’s are north dicksford. shameful.”

#so yeah sorry to rant but honestly #I'm so tired of ppl refusing to take responsibility on every side of this #imperalistic cruel capitalist regimes going 'well hey. at least we aren't America. this is their fault.'#meanwhile. Americans contribute to the bulldozing of their own cultures to make room for a capitalist monster wearing them as a mask #and if you call out any Americans or make them aware of something they are doing individually that isn't helping. it's either #refusing to see/ accept their own bias. or just as bad! yes! just as bad!!! america is beyond help. there's nothing worth saving #nothing we can do. that's bullshit and making stupid excuses like 'oh our schools don't teach us to respect other cultures'#'we don't know how.' fucking learn! try! that's all anyone asks of you. nobody cares about your schooling. school is shit for working class #ppl in most countries!#you think the english curriculum is any more balanced? we're subjects of a colonial empire. it's propaganda and its not even competent!#i don't think the average American understands how many more hours of schooling they get vs a lot of places. I'm not saying it's right #but teaching time? you guys have longer school days and you stay in school till youre older. our national curriculum ends the year we turn #16 in the UK. year 11 finishes in June. you can leave school 2 months shy of 16 to get a supermarket job. (and many working class ppl do)#and our government still pat themselves on the back and say its eqv. to high school finishing at 18 in other countries. like for context.#i haven't had a geography lesson since i was 13. my last english lesson? i was 15. that's completely normal here. so yeah. the #'our schooling was shit so we can't use Google to learn a bit of geography' falls pretty fucking flat. sorry.#they should have done better by you but they didn't. join the queue. do what you can and take some fucking responsibility now #the only way out of this is for us all. American and otherwise. to do what we can. be self aware. try to be better. keep learning #because if you fall to apathy? capitalism wins. if you believe the propaganda? capitalism wins. if capitalism wins we all lose #the system is designed to wear you down so you're too tired to remember that it doesn't have to be this way.#that's been happening for decades and it's why things are such a mess now. the only way out. is remember there is a way out #climb towards it. do what you can. it seems like low hanging fruit. it doesn't look like enough to change anything.#but there are more ppl being hurt by this system than those benefiting. 99% of us. if everyone picks an apple. that's a lot!#that's a fucking lot! keep going even when it seems like you aren't making progress. make your voice heard. vote. don't passively support a #system that's on its way to destroying you. destroying us all. do what you've got to do to live. but don't forget that all the things that #seem like they don't matter? really really do matter once you add up everyone's contributions. you can't control other ppls actions only #your own. but your contribution matters. your vote matters. your voice matters. join the union. educate yourself. stay curious. question.#the informations out there go online learning 1 thing. challenging 1 bias is better than all or nothing. i dont have time to learn anything #small apples. low hanging fruit. the oceans made up of billions of drops. the longer you don't try. the longer you've no chance of success #we can do better. we can absolutely all do better.

36K notes · View notes

archaeren · 6 months ago

Text

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

#creative writing #writers block #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writers and poets #writerscommunity #fanfic writing #writeblr #writing advice

27K notes · View notes